


The Treachery of Beautiful Things

by starbursts_and_kisses



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Stark family feels, overprotective older brothers, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbursts_and_kisses/pseuds/starbursts_and_kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're all stories in the end." A collection of standalone prompts written for certain people on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wild Hunt (Arya/Aegon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it'd be nice to dump all my prompt fics in one page. Who knew writing drabbles could be so fun? :)
> 
> Title was taken from Ruth Frances Long's lovely novel, btw.

**For the prompt: _Jealous Arya (Pre-betrothal to Aegon)_**

 

_If that woman bats her eyelashes at him one more time, I swear to the gods I am going to scream,_ Arya thought furiously to herself as she swirled the contents of her wine and fought the urge to hurl it against the nearest wall. 

Beside her, Rhaenys had picked up on her mood and was now staring at her with a devilish smirk on her face, something that did nothing to quell Arya’s rising temper. “Whatever is the matter, Lady Arya?” she said in her best Elia Martell voice. “Is the wine not to your liking?” 

Her eyes flickered towards the dancing couple in the middle of the room. Her brother looked particularly dashing today, a fact that his present dancing partner seemed highly well aware of. Margaery Tyrell blushed prettily next to the prince, her eyelashes cast downward in a way that made her look even more innocent and virtuous than the rumors had suggested. In fact, she was so sweet and well mannered that every time Aegon tried to excuse himself, she would smile at him so forlornly that he would be left with no choice but to grant her another dance lest he risk the chance of him looking like an ungallant brute. 

As it stood, Margaery now had the honor of dancing with the prince for no less than four times. If Aegon were to grant her one more dance, Rhaenys had no doubt that by this time tomorrow, the rumors about a new Tyrell princess would soon be spreading across the city like wildfire. 

_And that,_ she thought, sparing a glance at the smug look on Mace Tyrell’s face from his position at the high table, _would not do._

“The wine is fine, Princess Rhaenys,” Arya managed to say through gritted teeth. Rhaenys consoled herself with the fact that at least she did not look half as murderous as the lady sitting next to her. Margaery Tyrell may be as lovely as a spring blossom, but a rose with thorns is no match for a direwolf. 

“Then why the long face?” Rhaenys asked her, unable to stop herself from goading their Northern guest further. “Are you unwell, my lady? Would you like me to fetch my brother? He would be most wroth with me if something bad were to happen to you without his knowledge.” 

Arya shook her head obstinately. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “There's no need to call Jon.” 

Rhaenys’ eyes flashed with amusement. “Oh, but I am not talking about Jon.” 

Arya’s face hardened at that. “Prince Aegon is far too busy with his Southron lady to pay attention to me. I would not want to deprive him of Lady Margaery’s company so soon, not when he so clearly enjoys it,” she said, sounding just as churlish as Viserys when he is being deprived of something he wants. 

“They do make a striking couple, do they not?” Rhaenys mused loudly, one hand resting on her chin. “How long do you think it’ll be before I would have to call Margaery my good sister?” 

Arya ground her teeth so hard Rhaenys half-expected her to transform into Stannis Baratheon. “But… but surely…” she sputtered, looking flustered, “Surely Aegon would not marry _her._ Not her.” 

The older woman suppressed a smile and leaned closer to her guest. “You mustn’t be so sure of that,” she whispered. “Allow me to tell you a secret, Lady Arya. My brother… has a certain… shall we say… _fondness_ for dark-haired girls.” She raised one eyebrow and smirked at her. “Catch my meaning?” 

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say to her. Lord Eddard’s daughter slammed her goblet against the table so hard that some of the wine spilled onto her lap, staining her white gown a deep crimson red, but she did not even seem to notice. 

Rhaenys gave Arya a friendly pat on the back and silently congratulated herself on a job well done. “Have patience, my love,” she said sweetly. “You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet.”

 

* * *

  

Rhaenys was right, of course. Just when Arya thought things would get better, they only got worse. She could not understand how a man like Aegon could inspire such blind loyalty and adoration from the majority of the ladies in King’s Landing. If Aegon were to ask someone to jump off a cliff, the poor lady would probably do so without a second thought. Arya thought the whole thing was rather ridiculous. 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

Arya turned around and came face to face with Jon. He favored her with one of his rare smiles and joined her on the balustrade, where they both had a perfect view of the approaching carriage that bore the seal of House Baratheon.

“Aegon was looking for you earlier, you know,” Jon mentioned casually. 

Arya snorted and jerked her chin in Aegon’s direction. “Does that look like a man searching for me, Jon?” she said. They both watched as the carriage doors opened and a lovely lady with hair as brilliant as the sun gingerly stepped out. Aegon took her hand and carefully escorted her out, smiling at her in a way that made Arya wish she had clobbered him on the head the last time Aegon found himself alone with her. 

“Look at him,” Arya muttered, shaking her head in disgust. “Strutting like a bloody peacock who owns the place. You’d think he'd never seen a blonde-haired girl in his life before.” 

Jon paused and looked at her. 

“What?” Arya asked him. “Why are you staring at me like that, Jon?” 

After a moment, she heard him laugh. “By the gods,” Jon said, sounding far too amused for Arya’s liking. “You…” 

“I _what?_ For gods’ sake, Jon, spit it out.” 

“You’re jealous,” Jon finally had the grace to say. 

Arya gasped indignantly. “I am _not,”_ she protested. 

Jon nodded sagely at her. “Yes, you are,” he stated. “Arya, I know you better than anyone. So believe me when I say this:  you like my brother. And if I am not mistaken, he likes you too.”

 

* * *

 

Arya seethed quietly by herself as she watched Aegon and his small party gallop off into the kingswood, the sound of barking dogs following in their wake. Riding at a steady pace beside him was Elia Sand, yet another paragon of beauty who had journeyed all the way from the far reaches of Dorne just for the pleasure of having the prince’s company. Or so Arya had gleaned from eavesdropping in on Lord Varys’ conversation with the king earlier that day. 

Elia Sand was not as beautiful as Myrcella Baratheon or Margaery Tyrell, but she exuded a certain confidence that drew men to her in the same manner Aegon drew women to him. And for some reason Arya did not like her. 

“Arya,” a soft voice said to her right. “What are you doing here? I thought you had gone riding with my nephew today.” 

Arya shrugged and met Daenerys Targaryen’s curious gaze. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite for riding,” she remarked. “Perhaps some other day.” 

In truth, she was still mad at Aegon for inviting Elia Sand along with them. Arya suppressed a sigh. Sometimes the stupid prince was just too damn nice for his own good. 

“I’m sorry Aegon has made things difficult for you,” Dany said, reaching out to clasp Arya’s hand. “He chose a most inopportune time to invite you to King’s Landing.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Dany sighed. “You’ve arrived in the middle of hunting season, dearest Arya,” she told her. “But this time there is only one prey.” 

A look of understanding crossed Arya’s face. “Aegon,” she immediately said. 

Dany nodded. “Yes. Aegon.” 

No doubt her Targaryen friend expected her to be deterred by this news. But if anything, this only made Arya even more determined. She smiled wolfishly at Dany and said, “Good thing I am a Stark then. I know a thing or two about hunting.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when this drabble-writing streak will last, so if you want me to write something for you, send me a prompt on Tumblr (the username's starksiren). 
> 
> It doesn't necessarily have to be Arya/Aegon. Sometimes a little variety is welcome too. However... I make no guarantees that I'd be able to do ALL the prompts. It depends on how, ummm, doable the prompt is.


	2. Under My Skin (Arya/Aegon)

 

**For the prompt: _Aegon is a hot tattoo artist and Arya gets a new ink_**

 

Griff took one look at the skinny girl who entered his studio and smirked.

“Let me guess,” he drawled. “You want a fairy on your shoulder.”

The girl glared at him, pushing long locks of untamed hair out of her eyes – Griff had never seen anyone with hair so messy, unless of course you counted the occasional wild animal you see on Discovery Channel – and said, “Do I look like the type who wants a fucking fairy on my shoulder?”

Griff smiled, cigarette dangling loosely on his lips. “No? How about a heart on an anchor?” he tried again.

“Hells no.”

“A flaming skull?”

“No way.”

“A rose with thorns?”

The girl looked mildly disgusted. “Seriously?”

“Right,” Griff muttered, running a hand through his hair and favoring her with an amused grin. “So what’s it gonna be, girl-who-doesn’t-want-a-fairy-on-her-shoulder?”

“It’s Arya,” the girl corrected him irritably. She forced her way to the counter and shoved a rumpled piece of paper at him. “ _This_ is what I want tattooed on my left arm. Can you do it?”

Griff’s eyebrows rose appreciatively. “Interesting,” he remarked. “You have a thing for wolves?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” she replied with a shrug. “So can you do it or not? I don’t have all day.”

“Oh, I can do it alright. Hop on.”

Arya settled herself on one of the empty leather arm stools and drew back her sleeve, revealing wiry muscles that suggested long hours spent under the sun. If Griff had to guess, he’d say tennis. Possibly even lacrosse.

The tiny voice inside his head that sounded remarkably like his annoying friend Hugor reminded him that he was ogling, so Griff blinked and quickly got to work.

“Okay, this might hurt a bit,” he cautioned her.

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a needle. Of course it’s supposed to hurt.”

“Wow, you always this snarky?”

She shot him a grin that looked as lupine as the image she wanted tattooed on her arm and said, “Only to strangers who ask annoying questions.”

Griff snorted and went back to work. 

To his surprise, during the entire two hours that Arya was in his shop, she uttered not one word of complaint. Arm tattoos weren’t as painful as, say, shoulder or wrist tattoos, but Griff knew they could still hurt like a bitch, especially if it was the customer’s first time. And one look at Arya and he could immediately tell that it was her first time, even though she looked more inclined to deny it.

The girl had a high tolerance for pain, Griff could give her that. And she was rather… intriguing. For a girl who claimed to express intolerance for being asked annoying questions, she sure was a chatty one. She threw odd questions at him – why was his hair blue, why was he all alone in the studio and why did he not have, like, an assistant or something, what kind of self-respecting man wore tight jeans and a vest with nothing underneath without expecting to be harassed by old ladies and rich cougars on the street– and on more than one occasion, he caught her staring at the intricate lines of tattoo on his chest, so before he knew it, he was telling her all about his family’s fascination with dragons and the day he decided he wanted to get a tattoo in honor of his late father.

It was just so easy to talk to her, and he was surprised by how much he seemed to be enjoying himself. In fact, when those two hours were over, Griff was rather sorry to see her go.

“Hey, wolf girl!” he called back a second before Arya walked out of his shop for good.

Arya paused and looked back over her shoulder. “What?” 

“The next time you come back here, it’s on the house,” Griff said with a wink.

 

 

 


	3. Misplaced Chivalry (Arya/Aegon)

 

**For the prompt: _Aegon meets Arya in Braavos._**

 

Braavos truly is a beautiful place, Aegon decided as he pushed his way past the throngs of people and walked toward one of the many stone bridges that lined the inner parts of the city. As a young man with no permanent home, he’d seen a great deal of the world, but none half as alluring as the city of Braavos. 

He liked it here. He liked the painted bridges and the equally colorful bravos that man the streets at night; he liked the narrow houses with its peak tiled roofs and the way they seem to lean towards one another, almost like a pack of falling cards; he liked the fact that anyone here is free to worship whatever god they please; and most of all, he liked the people – the friendly sailors and the amusing mummers and hell, even the coquettish whores who coo at him behind half-opened windows and tavern doors. 

In fact, he liked Braavos so much he had half a mind to tell Jon and Duck to leave him here. In Westeros, what awaited him was a land thrice ravaged by war and destruction, but here in Braavos, he could find nothing but peace. That was, of course, until he came across the sight of several men beating a poor, helpless boy with reckless abandon right in the middle of the street. 

The men were heavily muscled but otherwise unarmed. One of them in particular, a brutish middle-aged man who Aegon presumed was their leader, was taking special pleasure in kicking the life out of his bedraggled victim. To Aegon’s abject horror, he realized that the recipient of those blows was a girl. And Seven Hells, to make matters worse, the girl was _blind_. 

With a sudden surge of anger, Aegon ran toward them and yelled, “Hey! Leave her alone!” 

The men turned as one and stared at him. One of them spat on the ground and gave him a crooked smile. “Mind your own business, boy,” he sneered. 

Aegon clenched his jaw tightly and took one step forward, the glint of naked steel shining dangerously in the sunlight. “I said,” he growled in a low voice, “Leave. Her. Alone.” 

The group’s leader cocked an eyebrow at him. “Or what?” he goaded him. 

Aegon’s eyes settled on the girl. She had managed to pull herself up to a sitting position, and despite the blood on her face and the blooming bruises on her arms, there was something different about her and the way she held herself. She didn’t look cowed or defeated at all. In fact, she seemed almost angry at the intrusion. But of course that couldn’t be right. 

“Gentlemen,” Aegon addressed the group in bastard Valyrian. “I am giving you one last chance to surrender. Leave the girl alone and I promise no harm shall come to you.” 

“Such brave words from one so young,” the Braavosi leader said, cracking his knuckles. “Very well, then. If it’s a fight you want, we shall give you one.” 

The fight lasted only a short time. Though the men outnumbered him three to one, Aegon was faster. He had been training with Duck and Jon since the moment he’d been deemed old enough to hold a sword, and though he was nowhere near as good as a knight of the Kingsguard, he liked to think of himself as a decent enough swordsman. 

By the time he saw the last of the men, Aegon was panting and drenched in sweat. There was a terrible gash just above his left eyebrow – a result when one of the Braavosi foolishly tried to wrestle his sword from him – and every bone in his body ached. When Jon finds him later, there would be hell to pay. But surely he would not begrudge him this one fight, not when the honor of a blind girl is at stake? 

Speaking of the girl… Aegon whirled around, but to his surprise, there was no sign of her anywhere. _That can’t be possible_ , Aegon thought. _She is too injured to move. And she’s blind. There’s no way she could have run away so fast._  

Fraught with worry and compassion, he tried asking several of the Braavosi who had witnessed the fight if they had seen the blind girl, but all he got were blank stares and confused mutterings. 

So not knowing what else to do, Aegon sighed and finally decided to head back to the inn. He’d had enough adventure for one day.

 

* * *

 

“Move and you die.” 

Aegon gulped and felt the cold kiss of a blade at his throat. He could not, for the life of him, understand how he came to be here. All he knew was that he’d been admiring one of the dome-shaped temples from afar, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, some inconspicuous ruffian had grabbed him by the edge of his tunic and dragged him off to a hidden alley. 

The stranger drew back her hood and stared at him, and Aegon had to stifle a gasp. It was her, the girl he’d rescued from those men. Her face was different somehow. It was longer and more angular now, and those eyes… Yes, the color was different as well. Aegon had never noticed it before, but he supposed she was pretty, in the same way one might call a sleek mountain lion pretty. But what bothered him more than anything was this – she looked neither blind nor helpless. 

“Who are you?” 

“No one,” the girl replied in perfectly polished Westerosi. 

Aegon’s eyes widened. “You are from Westeros,” he stated. 

The girl tilted her head and stared unnervingly at him. “In another life I was,” she conceded. “But no longer.” 

“You speak like a Westerosi noble, you play the part of a blind girl, and you point a knife at my throat,” Aegon said. “Tell me, who are you and what is it that you want with me?” 

“I am here because you interfered with my affairs,” she snapped at him. 

Aegon looked at her in disbelief. “Interfered?” he exclaimed indignantly. “You ungrateful girl, I saved your life! Those men weren’t exactly inviting you out for tea and lemon cakes, as I recall. You were lucky you didn’t bleed to death before I found you!” 

“No, you don’t understand,” she snarled at him, looking positively murderous. “I waited months for this, you camel’s cunt. _Months_. And I was so close to giving him the coin when you – you stupid disgusting maggot – decided that today would be a good day to save a blind girl. If you had just walked away like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened!” 

His mouth dropped open, the threat of her blade now thoroughly forgotten. “I don’t know what in gods’ name you’re talking about,” he muttered, “but did you just call me a _camel’s cunt_? And a _maggot_?” 

The girl who called herself no one shrugged, and for a moment, the grip on her dagger slackened. But Aegon was too affronted to take advantage of this opportunity. 

“You…” he sputtered. “You… Seven Hells, maybe I should have let those men had their way with you.” 

She nodded. “Yes, you should have,” she whispered. “So now I’ve come here to warn you. Stay away from those men. And stay away from me.” 

“Or what?” 

_“Valar morghulis.”_

The pressure on his throat loosened and something hit him on the back of the head – something painful enough to make him see stars – but when his vision cleared again, he found himself all alone in the alley. 

The girl had vanished again.

 

* * *

 

Aegon walked the entire length of Ragman’s Harbor in a daze, his mind struggling to make sense of what just happened. Today was, no doubt, one of the strangest days he’d had in his life. 

“Hey, you alright, young man?” one of the men lingering near the docks asked him. “Are you lost?” 

Aegon shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I… Well… There was this girl. She… I think she just called me a camel’s cunt.” 

The man gave him a knowing smile. “Let me guess,” he said. “Scruffy girl? Grey eyes? Wields a sharp-looking blade?” 

“Yes! How did you know?” 

“Ah,” the roguish-looking Braavosi said. “That would be Cat.” 

“Cat?” Aegon repeated. He paused for a moment to think. “And this Cat… You know where to find her?” 

“Just so. Come by this spot tomorrow before sunset and you will see her.” 

Aegon pressed several copper coins into the man’s palm and nodded at him. “Many thanks,” he said, suppressing the urge to smile. Already he was thinking up ways of convincing Jon to stay one more night at Braavos.

 

 

 


	4. Closer to the Edge (Arya/Aegon)

 

**For the prompt: _Aegon is intrigued by her but Arya has an ulterior motive. Jon senses that there is something wrong with her so Aegon volunteers to figure it out._**

 

“So, how exactly do you plan on storming King’s Landing?” 

Aegon and Jon simultaneously looked up from the maps on the table just in time to see Arya stride inside the tent, her hair in its customary messy braid, twin blades dangling on either side of her hips. She grinned at them, perched herself on the edge of the table, and waited for both men to compose themselves. 

Aegon blinked. “I beg your pardon?” 

“King’s Landing,” Arya said, enunciating the words slowly as though she was talking to an imbecile. “You have plans to march to the city as soon as possible, yes? Have you found the best way to accomplish that?”

Jon ran a hand through his hair and shot his sister a weary smile. “Have you been eavesdropping in on our council meetings again, Arya?” 

She shrugged. “Only because you persist in leaving me out of such important matters of state,” she replied, barely able to conceal her irritation. 

“We’ve been through this before, Arya,” Jon whispered softly. “I’d rather you occupied yourself with the rebuilding of Winterfell rather than with battle plans and strategy meetings. I’ve no wish to burden you with such tedious talks.” 

Arya rolled her eyes and muttered something in bastard Valyrian. Aegon raised his eyebrows in surprise, and thought it prudent not to translate for Jon. “Very well then,” she stated in a bored tone. She stood up and made to leave. “Come find me when you’re finally ready to hear some real advice.” 

Jon glanced at his half-brother and abruptly came to a decision. “Arya, wait,” he called out. 

She stopped in her tracks. 

“If there’s something you know that can help us…”

Arya smiled, leaned both elbows on the table, and whispered to them, “What if I told you that there was a way to get inside the Red Keep undetected?” 

Aegon frowned. “Is such a thing possible?” he asked.

“Can dragons roam the skies again? Of course it’s possible, silver prince,” she replied in a contemptuous voice she solely reserved for him. She turned to Jon. “When we reach the outskirts of King’s Landing, send me ahead. I will sneak inside the Red Keep and pave the way open for you. Wait for my signal. Disguise your troops as common folk and position half of them near the King's Gate. The other half will storm the castle from the inside, under my command and guidance. That way we can have the element of surprise.”

Aegon rested one hand on his chin and stared at Jon’s sister with wonder and newly found appreciation. “That’s not a bad plan,” he admitted. “If you can truly find a way inside the castle without being detected –” 

“Not if. _When.”_

Jon, however, did not share their enthusiasm. “I don’t know, Arya…” he began. “I don’t want you risking your life in this battle. Perhaps if you _told_ us the secret passage you are privy to, one of us can take your place instead.” 

Arya shook her head, and the look she sent him was serious. “It’s me or no one at all, Jon.”

To his credit, Jon did his best to resist the idea, but in the end, as Aegon had known he would, he eventually gave in. Jon Snow had but one weakness, and that weakness was now staring them right in the face, smiling at them. 

“Tell me one thing though, Lady Stark,” Aegon abruptly said. “Why help us? You have no love for me or for my cause – you’ve made that clear enough – and yet you would risk your life to aid us. Why? I thought you didn’t trust me?”

“I don’t,” Arya replied bluntly. “But Jon trusts you. And for now, that would have to be enough.”

 

* * *

 

When Arya finally took her leave, Aegon cleared his throat. "Your cousin..." he began to say. 

"Sister," Jon immediately corrected him. 

"Fine. Sister then," Aegon conceded. "She is... a rather remarkable woman. I've never met anyone like her." 

It was true. Aegon had seen a great deal of the world and interacted with people from all walks of life. But in all those years, he had never encountered a woman (or a man) quite like Arya Stark. She intrigued him, this wild Northern guest of theirs. It was a good thing she was wary of him, or else Aegon might not have been able to stop himself from doing something that would have caused great enmity between him and his newfound brother. 

Jon interrupted his thoughts and sighed. "I am worried for her," he confessed in a small voice. 

"Don't be. She slew thirty men in the Battle of Winterfell and crippled four of my Golden Company when they tried to make a pass at her. She can take care of herself." 

"That's not what I'm worried about," Jon said, shaking his head. "She has learned to stick men with the pointy end. I know that. But I didn't like the way she looked earlier, Aegon. There is something wrong with her. She's... changed somehow." 

"War changes us all, brother." 

"Yes, but Arya... She's my _sister._ I'm supposed to protect her from the horrors of the world and the cruelty of men. But I fear that it is too late now. She has seen and suffered too much." 

"Jon, listen to me. If there is anyone that can bring Arya back to herself, it's you," Aegon told him. "You're the only one she listens to. Hell, she would have cleaved me in half that first night she came into our camp if you hadn't intervened and talked her out of it." 

"Yes, but... How am I to help her if she won't tell me what's wrong?" 

Aegon clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Leave that to me," he promised. "Maybe I can help."

 

* * *

 

"Did you know that you talk in your sleep, Lady Stark?" 

The aforementioned lady shot up in bed so fast Aegon was barely able to make out her form in the darkness. In a matter of seconds, she had her blade pointed at his chest. "Do you know what happens to men who trespass in my chambers? My brother puts them to the sword. But not if I don't kill them first," she hissed. 

Aegon raised both of his hands in an act of surrender. "Easy now," he said slowly. "I mean you no harm, my lady. I just want to talk."

Arya threw back her head and laughed. "Talk? Is that what men call it these days?" She lowered her sword arm so that the tip of her blade rested on the one part of his body Aegon valued more than his heart. "Give me one good reason why I should spare your life." 

Aegon swallowed and forced himself to look away from her blade so that he could meet her eyes. "I came here because of your brother," he told her earnestly. "He's worried about you." 

"He shouldn't be." 

"No. He has good cause to worry," Aegon said. "As do I." 

She scoffed at him. "You're just saying that because you want to fuck me," she said blithely. 

Aegon smirked at her, his eyes traveling from her face to her breasts and back again. "True enough," he admitted with a shrug. "I do want you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you, Arya Stark.” 

He tilted his head to the side and gazed at her. “Tell me. How do you think your brother will react when he finds out that you intend to kill Cersei Lannister in King’s Landing?” 

“About as well as he reacts when he finds out that his half-brother wants to fuck his favorite sister.” 

“My, my,” Aegon said, grinning handsomely at her. “Are you trying to blackmail me, Lady Stark?” 

Arya returned his grin with a wicked smile of her own. “Think what you will of my words,” she whispered. “But make no mistake. Cersei Lannister is _mine_. I owe her a debt, Aegon Targaryen, one that can only be paid with blood. And one way or another, that debt shall be paid.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That thing with Jon killing intruders in Arya's room... well, that one was obviously a joke :)
> 
> Happy Game of Thrones Day, everyone! :)


	5. Five Times Arya Ran Away From Septa Mordane (Arya/Family)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the lovely person who gave me this prompt, I am so sorry it took me so long to write this. I was on vacation, plus I went through this weird writing phase where I kept declaring everything I write as crap, so... my apologies.

**For the prompt: _Stark family fluff_**

**JON**  

Jon allowed his gaze to sweep over the empty room. He could’ve sworn he saw something moving underneath his bed. But was it just his imagination? With a growing sense of suspicion, he knelt on the floor, swept the covers aside, and peered past the dust and the grime. The shadows under his bed quivered at the sudden onslaught of light, until they shifted and morphed, forming the face of a girl he knew all too well. 

“Arya?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “What in gods’ name are you doing down there?” 

He was rewarded with a small grin from his sister. Arya Stark, in all her childlike glory, crawled out of his bed on her bony elbows and knees, looking not the least bit worried that Jon had managed to find her new secret hiding place.

“Shh, be quiet, Jon,” she whispered, putting one finger to her lips. “Septa Mordane might hear you. You haven’t seen her lurking around here, have you?” 

“I can’t say that I have,” Jon replied, unable to stop himself from smiling at the idea that his little sister might have found her way into trouble once again. But then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. Arya had a way of making him smile even when the situation calls for her to be reprimanded or restrained. 

He knew he ought to report her presence here to Lady Catelyn – it was the proper thing for him to do, after all – but he was as bound to Arya by loyalty as she was to him. He would never betray her, even in light of such trivial matters. Arya knew that, of course. It was probably why she had taken shelter underneath his bed in the first place. 

“Hmm. But why is Septa Mordane looking for you? What have you done this time?” 

Arya’s face darkened at the memory of some remembered slight. She tried to shrug off the question, but under Jon’s careful scrutiny, it was impossible for her to lie. “She saw me punch Theon,” she grudgingly confessed, eyes studiously fixed to the floorboards. 

Jon frowned. “And why were you punching Theon?” he asked her. “Theon is our father’s ward, and he is kind to you, isn’t he?” 

“Yes, but he wasn’t kind to you,” Arya griped. “He called you a bastard behind your back, right where everyone could hear it. So you see, I _had_ to punch him.” 

Jon’s amusement died in an instant. “Oh, Arya,” he said, suddenly feeling a strong rush of affection for his favorite sibling.

“I would have done more to him, I swear I would, but Septa Mordane saw me and threatened to get Father and Mother if I didn’t apologize to Theon right that instant,” she told him none-too-happily. 

“And I take it by your tone of voice that you did not…uh… go forward and apologize?” 

His sister crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, as if daring him to call her out for her unseemly behavior. “Of course I didn’t!” she professed. “Theon called you a bastard!” 

Jon sighed. “But it’s true. I am a bastard,” he said, allowing just a hint of unhappiness to creep into his voice at the mention of his lowly station. He’d had a similar conversation to this before with Arya, back when she was still too young to understand what a bastard truly meant. She’d come to him then, scared and teary-eyed, asking him if she was also a bastard, and at that time, Jon had done everything he could to comfort her, without letting her know how much the familiar barb stung. 

Now he was doing the same thing again. But this time, Arya was a little older and a tad too perceptive not to pick up on his mood. “You’re my brother,” she whispered, reaching out and lacing her fingers through his. “People shouldn’t be allowed to call you that. Not when it makes you so sad.” 

Jon smiled faintly. “Come here,” he murmured. He drew Arya into his arms and kissed her once on the cheek. “How can I ever be sad,” he began to say, “when I have such a lovely little sister by my side?” 

Arya giggled and playfully ruffled his hair. As she predicted, this odd reversal in roles succeeded in coaxing a true smile out of Jon. “If Theon calls you a bastard again, I’ll knock all his teeth off,” she happily vowed. 

“Thank you, Arya. It's good to know that I can always count on you to defend my honor."

After a moment though, he added, "Wait, you're not completely serious about that though, are you?"

" 'Course I'm serious, Jon. Didn't you just teach me how to punch a man the other day?"

 

* * *

  

 **ROBB**  

She crouched into position, one hand gripping the balcony rail, the other tightly braced against the wall. When she heard the familiar clip-clopping of hooves, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. She only had one chance to get this right, and if she missed this, Septa Mordane might find her. That was, if she didn’t injure herself first. Neither option sounded appealing to her, so she tried her best to concentrate and bring her mind back to the task at present. 

At the count of ten, Arya jumped. 

She landed hard, almost missing the saddle by inches, and instinctively, she reached out, her hands latching on to the nearest object (which in this case, happened to be someone’s shoulders) so that she could steady herself. The rider cursed and reined in his horse. “Seven Hells, Arya! What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled in fright. “You almost killed yourself!”

“Can I come riding with you, Robb? Please?” she said in response, her voice taking on that wheedling quality that only usually worked on Jon and their father. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at needlework lessons?” 

“Yes. Why do you think I want to go on a ride with you?” Arya said. “Come on, Robb. Please?” She gave her brother her best pleading look, and though she wasn’t Sansa (Robb was more likely to cave in if Sansa was the one asking for a favor), it was enough to sway him. 

He sighed. “Fine. But if Mother hears about this and demands your head, I want it said that I had nothing to do with this, alright?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, and after a moment, wherein Robb glanced upward at the skies and lamented the fact that the gods had seen it fit for him to be blessed with an imp for a sister, they were off. 

“Ah, now this is more like it.” Arya sighed with contentment, looking around the woods with an eagerness more appropriately seen on a puppy than on a girl of her station. Thanks to her parents, she rarely had the opportunity to venture into this part of the woods unsupervised (her mother was convinced that some sort of horrid accident might befall her, despite the fact that Arya had proved herself a worthy rider for her age), and now being with her brother here was the closest thing she could get to freedom. 

“I wish I could ride a proper horse like this everyday,” she remarked. 

“Better stick to your pony, little sister. You’re too young to ride a horse like mine,” Robb teased her. 

She turned around and flicked him on the forehead. “Just because you’re older than me by a few years doesn’t mean you can act all high and mighty about it,” she said prissily. 

Robb responded by cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting, “Oh, Septa Mordane! Arya’s here! Come quick!” 

He burst out laughing as she attempted to cover his mouth with her hand and sent him a look that was half a glare and half a pout. In return, he urged his horse into a gallop, distracting Arya enough that she quickly let go of him. 

They rode for what seemed like hours. When they finally reached a bend in the forest, both their cheeks had gone red from exhilaration, and there were wide smiles on their faces. 

“We should do this again,” Arya declared. 

“Yes, we should,” Robb agreed. While he more often preferred the company of Theon and Jon to Arya, he had to admit, despite her faults and her tendency to incriminate him in various acts of rebellion (running away from Septa Mordane being one of them), his little sister was fun to be with, especially when there was riding involved. 

He smiled. Yes, it would certainly be fun if they could do this again. Besides, what sort of brother would he be if he didn’t rescue her from the clutches of her septa from time to time?

 

* * *

  

 **BRAN**

“Come on, Arya. You’re almost there. You can do it!” 

Sweat beading on her brow, Arya of Winterfell gritted her teeth and hoisted her body over the edge of the windowsill where her younger brother was waiting for her, his skinny little arms poised to help her up. 

“Gods, I will never understand how you can climb this tower without breaking into a sweat,” she complained with a sigh, closing her eyes and resting her cheek on the cool stonewall in an effort to catch her breath. 

Bran shrugged. “Mother told me I was born to climb, just like Father always told you that you were born to ride a horse,” he said. “Seems only fair, doesn’t it?” 

“Oh, shut it. When did you get so wise?” Arya mumbled. She surreptitiously peered at the window for a moment, and when she was satisfied that they were not being followed, she relaxed and allowed herself a small smile. “Yes. Looks like I’m finally safe for the moment.” 

“You know, I should have reported you to Mother the minute you asked for my help,” Bran said casually, crossing his arms over his chest and sending his sister a cheeky grin. “I bet she would have praised me for my honesty.” 

“Oh, come on, Bran,” Arya replied. “Have I not complained to you enough about my septa? I swear to you, that woman _hates_ me.” 

“Hates your stitches, you mean,” Bran supplied helpfully. 

Arya scowled. “It’s not my fault I can’t do everything like Sansa.” 

“Don’t despair. You know you’re always welcome to come play with me when you’ve had enough needlework lessons for one day. Even if it gets me in trouble with Mother, you know I’ll always be at your service, sister.” 

Despite herself, Arya felt her mood lift. Bran may not understand her the way Jon does, but out of all her siblings, he truly was the sweetest. And though Arya was not the type of lady who delighted in being rescued by gallant knights-in-shining-armour, for Bran she was willing to make an exception. He would be her sweet summer knight. 

“Thank you, Bran,” she whispered as she swept him into a tight hug. “Someday, you shall be Ser Brandon, the finest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you and I are going to go on grand adventures. We shall sail east and south, and we’ll see all the wonders of the world – giants and krakens and mermaids and dragons – and we’ll become legends. How would you like that? It will be marvelous, you’ll see.” 

“Yes, I would love that,” Bran said. “Someday, sister. Someday.”

 

* * *

  

 **SANSA**

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Arya paused in the act of unlatching the window, and sure enough, when she looked over her shoulder, Sansa was there, staring at her with her lips wide open, a scandalized expression painted on her lovely face. 

“I’m going out. What does it look like I’m doing?” 

Sansa’s eyes widened. “But you _can’t_ ,” she protested loudly, as if the idea of Arya running away from their lessons was so unusual and too horrible a thought to contemplate. “Septa Mordane said we are to work on our stitches until evenfall.” 

Her little sister made a face at her. “But I need to go out,” she said. “Septa Mordane and her silly little lessons can wait.”

She made a move as though to climb over the window, but Sansa clung tightly to the edge of her dress, effectively preventing her escape. “Let go, Sansa,” Arya cried out, furiously tugging at the fabric with all her might. But Sansa was just as stubborn as she was when provoked, and before long, they were playing a dangerous game of tug-of-war, one that ended when they heard the sound of Arya’s dress cleanly ripping in half. 

Sansa stared in horror at the tattered remains of her sister’s skirts, no doubt waiting for the gods to strike her for her wicked and unladylike behavior. 

That was all the opening Arya needed. She hopped to the windowsill before Sansa could even utter a single word of protest and swung her legs over the stone ridge, calculating just how far she could jump without breaking her neck. But before she could successfully engineer her escape, she was once again thwarted. 

“Arya Stark, get back here! If you try to leave this room one more time, I swear to the Seven I will scream so loud people all the way from Dorne would hear me,” Sansa shrieked, sounding as though she meant it. 

“But you don’t understand!” Arya began to say. “I _have_ to go out there. I have to –” 

“Why? What’s so important that you have to defy Septa Mordane’s wishes and risk Mother’s anger?” 

Arya bit her lip. “I want to pick flowers outside. For Father,” she finally confessed in a small voice. “It’s his name day tomorrow and I want to give him a present. I tried to make something, but… you’ve seen how I am with needlework. I’m no good. So I... I thought…” 

Sansa’s gaze softened. She closed her eyes, and for a long time she did not say anything. But finally she pursed her lips and sighed. “Fine,” she muttered. “Go now. I’ll take care of Septa Mordane for you. You have five seconds to go before I change my mind.” 

Later that night, as Sansa as was about to get ready for bed, she noticed something unusual. There was a warm slice of lemon cake waiting for her on her bedside table, along with a single, long-stemmed blue rose. 

Against her will, she smiled.

 

* * *

  

 **NED**

As Ned Stark made his way to the godswood, the weight of lordship and duty fading away the farther he ventured outside the castle, the last thing he expected to see was his own daughter sitting at the foot of the old weirwood tree, face pale, her knees drawn to her chest. 

“Arya?” he remarked incredulously. “What are you doing here?” 

She bent her head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m hiding from Septa Mordane.” 

Ned knelt on the snowy ground next to her and touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Come, child, tell me what’s wrong,” he coaxed her. 

Arya sniffed and laid her head on her father's shoulder. “We were having dance lessons,” she said, her thin childish voice piercing the chilly late afternoon air. “I tried to do it right, the way Septa Mordane taught me, but I just... I couldn't do it, you know? And then Jeyne was there, and she kept calling me Arya Horseface behind my back because she’s still upset that I told Robb that she likes him, and that got _me_ mad, so I ran away. How was I supposed to know that it was a secret? It’s not fair, Father. It’s not _fair.”_

Ned drew Arya closer to him and murmured, “Sweetling, sometimes life isn’t meant to be fair.” 

“But you’re fair, Father,” Arya told him at once. “I hear the men at Winterfell talking about you all the time. They say you’re the fairest and most honorable man in all the North.” 

Ned acknowledged this remark with a smile. “We’re Starks, Arya. Justice is in our veins,” he simply said. He shifted Arya so that she was sitting on his lap and went on, “And while it’s true that you need to learn how to act like a proper lady, there are other things even more important than that. Would you like to know what those are?” 

Arya nodded. 

“Duty and honor,” her father revealed, his face a solemn mask. “Duty to your family, and duty to the realm. And always, underneath all those things, there must be honor. For what is a man without honor? Nothing. Remember this, Arya, and remember it well.” 

“I will, Father,” she promised him. 

 _Duty and honor,_ she repeated to herself later that day, liking the way the words sounded in her head. Yes, she could do that. She may not be good at dancing lessons or at sewing, but she could be honorable and just. After all, she was a Stark and her father taught her well. _You shall see, Father. One day soon, I will make you proud._   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this can be classified as fluff (the Bran scene, for instance, made me sad while I was writing it). And I'm not gonna lie. I am not happy with the way this turned out (the idea sounded way better in my head, I swear to God), but hopefully I'll be able to write better stuff in the future.
> 
> For those of you who left me prompts, not to worry. I haven't forgotten them. I'll try to finish them all, one at a time :)


	6. Smells Like Secrets (Arya/Aegon)

**For the prompt: _Jealous Aegon_**

****

“Robb, do you think your sister is into older guys?” 

“The fuck are you talking about, man?” In a span of five seconds, Robb immediately went from chill beer buddy to protective older brother. 

Aegon silently cursed himself for voicing his concerns out loud. Robb Stark was a good guy and one of the most loyal people he knew, but when it came to scaring away his sisters’ suitors, the guy was legendary _._ He was also 170 pounds of hard muscle, with a mean right hook and a mind more suitable to politics and strategy planning than anything else, but… you know… Not that Aegon was worried or anything.    

“It’s…ah…nothing, really,” he muttered. “I was just curious, is all.” 

“Why? Should I be worried? Do you think Arya’s dating someone behind my back?” 

Aegon raised both of his hands and smiled at him. “Whoa, easy there, Robb. This isn’t the bloody Inquisition,” he said. “No, I don’t think she’s seeing anyone. Yet. It’s just that… she’s been spending a lot of time with that Baratheon guy lately and I thought you should know.” 

“Baratheon guy? Are you talking about her friend Gendry?” 

“No. It’s someone even worse. His uncle, Renly Baratheon,” Aegon couldn’t help but confess. “I don’t have proof that he’s hitting on her, but… god _,_ you should see them when they’re together. Smiling and laughing like they’ve known each other since birth. He even slings his arm around her shoulder as though there’s no age difference between them! Seriously, it’s disgusting. He’s practically old enough to be her father.” 

He expected Robb to go into a full-on rage (in fact, he was kind of hoping for that), but to his surprise, his friend relaxed and laughed. “That’s called a fucking friendship, Aegon,” he replied. “I know it’s a concept that’s completely foreign to you, but… you know… it happens.” 

“Fuck you, Stark. I’m being serious here. If I were you, I’d be worried for Arya. You should go install one of those tracking apps on her phone or have Sansa keep an eye on her, just to be on the safe side. _Or_ we can go pay Renly a visit. I don’t care if he’s the bloody King of England. If we need to beat him up so he’ll leave your sister alone, I say we do it.” 

Something about his tone immediately set Robb off. He narrowed his eyes at Aegon and said in a dangerously low voice, “Dude, do you like my sister? As in, like her like her?” 

Aegon laughed nervously. “What? _No._ God, no,” he said.

He was lying, of course.

 

* * *

 

No one else knew he liked Arya. Or so he thought. 

Later that week, as he paced around his apartment like a lion trapped in a cage, Jon watched him with eyes full of mirth and said, “You know, you would save everyone a lot of trouble if you just went ahead and asked Arya out. I might need to knock some sense into her at first, but eventually I think she’ll say yes.” 

Aegon raked his hands through his hair in frustration and replied, “Jon, I think she’s already seeing someone.” 

“Who?”

“Renly.” 

“ _Renly?_ As in Renly Baratheon?” Jon laughed so hard Aegon half-expected him to choke on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, Egg, what on earth gave you that idea?” 

Aegon sighed. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think it’s true,” he told his half-brother morosely. “Robb told me Arya has a thing for older guys. He said her first crush was some weird old sleazebag with red-and-white hair. And then she had that thing with Gendry two years ago, and now there’s Renly…” 

“Really? Robb told you that?” Jon said, trying hard to hide his smile. “C’mon. You know how Arya is. She likes hanging around all sorts of people. You know, people like Anguy and Beric Dondarrion and Asha Greyjoy. Hell, you’ll even see her playing poker with Uncle Obi from time to time, however weird and scary that sounds.” 

“Yes, but none of them are Renly,” Aegon bemoaned. “Do you know that she’s recruited him to be her double at the upcoming tennis tournament next month? And, oh, the other day we were at some pub downtown, and when some jackass tried to hit on her, Renly went all protective and shit. And do you wanna know what happened after that? He fucking kissed her, Jon. On the lips. And that’s not even the worst of it. Yesterday I called Arya at 2am to make sure she got home alright after her girls’ night out with Shireen and Wylla, and you wanna know what she said? She said, ‘Oh, I’m okay, Egg. I’m at Renly’s apartment. Go back to sleep.’ Like, seriously? How the fuck am I supposed to go back to sleep after hearing something like that? God, do you think he and Arya had sex? I've seen the way women look at Renly. The fucker's a charmer. Do you think Arya's into him?" 

Jon stared at him in stunned silence. “Um, are you done now?” 

All of a sudden, Aegon felt embarrassed. "Yeah," he mumbled, cheeks red. 

“Good. Now shut up and stop worrying about Renly Baratheon,” Jon chided him. “Green isn’t your color, Egg.”  
 

* * *

  

One day though, he finally found the courage to ask Arya about the one thing that’s been bugging him all week. 

“Arya…” he began to say, emboldened by the copious amounts of gin Jon had secretly slipped into his orange juice forty-five minutes ago ( _that sneaky little bastard)._ “Are you and Renly dating?”

Arya’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Ex _cuse_ me _?”_

“I’m your friend, Arya. Don’t you think I deserve to know?” 

“Oh my god,” Arya exclaimed, laughing at him in a way that made Aegon wince. “You stupid! Of course I’m not dating Renly! There’s no way in hell I’d date him!” 

“But… but…” Aegon sputtered. "You hang out with him all the time… And that night at the pub... He _kissed_ you. And you spent the night at his place…” 

“Aegon, it’s okay –” 

“No, it is _not_ okay. That man is a sexual predator and I do not approve of you dating him. If he wants you, he’s gonna have to go through me and your brothers first.” 

“Aegon, you stupid twat, would you shut up and listen to me for a minute?” Arya interrupted him, a huge grin on her face. “Renly Baratheon is gay.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“You heard me.” 

“But what about that kiss? And…and that night at his apartment?” 

Arya rolled her eyes at him and sighed. “He only kissed me so that creepy jerk at the pub would leave me alone. Trust me, Egg, Renly is gayer than a parade of pink ponies. I could probably walk around naked at his apartment all day and he wouldn’t even notice.” 

Aegon wished the ground would swallow him whole. He was so embarrassed the only thing he could do was bury his face in his hands and pray to god that Arya would let this go. 

But of course, that was probably too much to ask. “Aww, were you jealous, Aegon?” she teased him, patting him fondly on the cheek. 

Aegon blushed furiously. “I… No. Of course not,” he said, lying desperately through his teeth. 

Arya smirked knowingly at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” she muttered. “Everyone in this entire city knows that Renly’s gay.” 

“Everyone?” 

“Yeah, everyone.” 

 _Those motherfuckers._ Aegon made a mental note to bash Jon and Robb’s heads together the next time he saw them again. Robb he would understand, but Jon… He’d practically performed a thousand monologues in front of his half-brother about his doomed love life and not once had Jon said anything about Renly being gay. That prick. Forget blood ties. Aegon was going to kill him. 

Arya cleared her throat. “Now that that's finally out of the way…” she said sweetly. “Will you now quit making that wounded puppy face and ask me out? Seriously, what are you waiting for, _winter_?”  

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because dorky Aegon needs to make a reappearance every now and then.... :))
> 
> The Arya/Renly thing was totally random, I know, but remember that scene in AGOT where Renly laughed his ass off because Joffrey got beaten by a nine-year-old girl? Ah, those were the good times. Lol. Anyway, ever since I read that scene I just had this feeling that he and Arya would get along really well. 
> 
> Also, for those of you who are wondering... I'm doing the "Aegon meets Arya and her wolves" prompt next, followed by the Arya/Gendry one :) I hope I finish them all within the week so I can write a new one-shot or something.


	7. A Castle in the Snow (Arya/Aegon, Arya & Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be one of those cute Arya/Aegon drabbles, but somehow the moment I started writing, it turned into... THIS. (You'll see what I mean when you get to the last part of the chapter.) I'm sorry, my brain totally betrayed me XD
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention: this is a prequel of sorts to Chapter 4 (Closer to the Edge), with a few tweaks.

**For the prompt: _Aegon meets Arya in the woods while she’s traveling with her wolves_**

****

The air was chilly that day, and by the time Aegon got separated from his men, he was shivering. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and exhaled, his breath steaming in the cold air. _Winter is coming;_ that’s what Jon would say if he were here. 

Aegon dismounted. He tried to retrace his tracks, hoping it would lead him back to camp, but the snow was pouring heavily now, and it made it impossible for him to see anything beyond the white vastness of the field and the towering trees overhead. He was well and truly screwed now. 

He silently cursed himself for his foolishness. All he had wanted was a few minutes alone away from his men and Jon’s near-permanent somber mood, but now with the way things were going, he would be lucky if he ever made it through these woods alive. It would be dark soon, and with it came the terrible things men could only speak of when in front of an open fire, a warm mug of ale safely in their hands. _For the night is dark and full of terrors,_ Aegon thought to himself, reciting something he’d heard one of the new recruits say. 

He walked for what seemed like hours. The cold seeped into his bones and stole whatever warmth was left in his body, and several times he almost stumbled and fell. But finally, by some miracle of the gods, he reached a clearing. And in that clearing, he came across a most unusual sight. 

There was a girl lying asleep in the snow – with hair as dark as the night sky and skin as white as honeyed milk – and by her side was a direwolf. They looked like something straight out of the pages of a fairy tale, Aegon couldn’t help but think, and without meaning to, he stepped forward. 

At the sound of twigs snapping, the girl’s eyes flew open. Both girl and wolf stared at him, and something about the way they did so gave him pause. The she-wolf – the one who looked so much like Ghost – growled upon seeing him, but one touch from her mistress and she immediately stilled. 

Aegon swallowed. “P-pardon the intrusion,” he began to say. “I was just passing through... I mean you no harm. Truly.” 

The girl assessed him with cool grey eyes (why did he have a feeling he had seen those eyes before) and said, “Are you lost?” 

“I… Well, I’m…” Aegon licked his lips, his cheeks turning pink in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “That depends on your definition of lost… But... what about you? What’s a girl like you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? The war is far from over, my lady, and it isn’t safe to travel in these woods alone.” 

She smiled at him, a smile that chilled the blood in his veins and froze him in his tracks. “Who says I’m traveling alone?” she whispered. 

As if on cue, dozens of eyes shone in the empty space behind her, and before Aegon knew it, there were wolves all around him – wolves of every color and size, some with blood on their muzzles, some with fangs bared, their sharp teeth gleaming like knives in the surrounding sea of forest grass and winter snow. And somehow, they were all staring at him as though he was about to be dinner. 

Goosebumps prickled his skin. With eyes wide and his heart in his throat, he asked her, “Who _are_ you?” 

She shrugged. “I'm just a girl trying to find my way back home,” she murmured. “Who are you?” 

“I’m…” He paused. “I’m a sellsword. From the Golden Company. And now…uh…if you’ll excuse me… I must get back to my companions…” 

Aegon slowly backed away. He didn’t care if he ended up wandering around the forest in circles, hungry, alone, and with no way to get back to camp. Even that would be preferable to getting mauled to death by a rabid pack of hungry wolves. 

Before he could get much further though, the giant direwolf leapt and landed on his chest, knocking him backwards into the ground. When he looked up, the girl had unsheathed a mean-looking dagger and was pointing it straight at him. 

“You’re a foolish man,” she told him, “if you think you can lie to a girl with an army of wolves at her back and get away with it.” She pressed her blade against his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Now let’s try this again, shall we? Who are you?” 

“I… I…” 

“I’ve no wish to harm you,” she said, almost regretfully. “So please, do not give me cause to do so. I’ve killed enough men as it is. But first… I must be certain. If you are who I think you are…” 

“Wait, stop! Stay right where you are and drop your weapon!” 

The girl whirled around, her face a blank mask of indifference, but when she caught a glimpse of the man who had addressed her, her composure broke. She gasped and with trembling hands, dropped her weapon. 

What happened next was a complete mystery to Aegon. With a sudden burst of speed, the woman ran and crossed the field in half, heedless of the arrow pointed at her chest. “Jon!” was all the warning she said before she threw herself in the stranger’s arms and burst into tears. “Oh, Jon. It is you! I thought I’d never see you again!” 

At the sound of her voice, all the confusion left Jon Snow’s face. Within moments, he too, quickly let go of his weapon. 

Aegon watched the scene in disbelief. The girl was laughing and crying and hugging his half-brother with all her might, and to make matters even more absurd, Jon was not pulling away. In fact, he looked – dare he say it – happy. Happier than Aegon had seen him in months. And… Seven Hells _,_ were those actual tears in Jon’s eyes? Since when did his brother cry? 

“What… What in gods’ name is going on?” Aegon wanted to know. 

The girl smiled through her tears and spared him a glance. “I told you I was trying to find my way home, didn’t I?” she said. “Well, it seems like my quest is finally at an end.” 

Aegon frowned. “But I don’t… I don’t understand…” 

“Can’t you see?” she replied, tightening her grip on Jon. “I _am_ home.”

 

 


	8. In the Company of Wolves (Arya/Gendry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a little hard to get into this at first because I'm not much of an Arya/Gendry fan (I mean, I used to be, but not anymore) and this scenario has been rehashed, like, a thousand times already. But a prompt is a prompt so I did the best that I could. Hope this was relatively okay :)

**For the prompt: _Gendry as the new apprentice blacksmith in Winterfell_**

Gendry hated Winterfell. He hated the eternal silence of the place, the way the castle maids giggled at him and called him “Renly” behind his back, but most of all, he hated the cold. There was always snow here – snow on the grounds, snow on his boots, snow on his slowly growing beard - and every night when he went to sleep, his teeth chattered and the cold stole into his bones like a silent thief, leaving him numb and frozen by the time he woke up in the morning. He could not understand how these Northmen could stand it. In this place where the power of the old gods were strong – where carved faces wept blood, crows roamed the skies like messengers of doom, and wolves howled at night – he felt like an outsider. 

When Eddard Stark first came to Tobho Mott’s shop bearing a proposition to take him North, Gendry had not known what to do. All his life, all he’d ever wanted was to master his craft and make a living in the Street of Steel, but all that changed the minute Lord Stark told him that he was King Robert’s bastard and that his life was in danger if he chose to stay behind in King’s Landing. 

So now here he was, a stranger trapped in a foreign land where men worshipped strange gods, men embraced the cold like an old friend, and direwolves roamed the castle grounds alongside humans. If it weren’t for the damned weather, life here wouldn’t be so bad, he reckoned. Mikken was always kind and never once tried to hit him, and as for Lord Eddard… Gendry wasn’t ashamed to admit that he liked him. He was just and honorable, and it was easy to see why everyone at Winterfell held such high respect for him. Gendry hoped that someday he would be privileged enough to make something for the Lord of Winterfell. 

For now, though, he would have to be content in following Mikken’s instructions. With a tired sigh, he went back to the task he had been given, resolving to do his very best within the shortest amount of time possible. After all, it would not do to disappoint Mikken, not when he had barely been here for a week. 

“Mikken! Have you seen… Oh. Who are you?” 

Gendry paused. Standing in front of him was a girl wearing breeches and riding leathers. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes muddy, but one look at her and Gendry immediately recognized her as Lord Eddard’s daughter. She had the Stark look to her, and it was impossible not to miss. 

“My name is Gendry, m’lady. I’m the new apprentice blacksmith,” he stammered out, mustering an awkward little bow for her. 

“I’m Arya. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she announced, sticking her hand out for him to shake. 

Gendry blinked at the offered gesture, not knowing what to do. He was pretty sure lowly blacksmiths like him were not allowed to shake hands with highborn ladies like Arya Stark, but the look she was giving him convinced him that it would be in his best interests to do as she says. So with trembling fingers, he shook hands with her. 

“So…” The Lady Arya said as she made herself comfortable on the stool next to him and proceeded to stare at him with unabashed curiosity. “Where are you from, Gendry? You don’t look like a Northerner to me.” 

“I… I came from King’s Landing,” Gendry replied, sounding a little flustered at all the unwanted attention he was receiving from her. 

“King’s Landing?” Her eyebrows rose. “No wonder you look like you’re about to freeze to death. What made you come all the way here to Winterfell?” 

Gendry flushed red. “I’m afraid I can’t say why, m’lady. Your lord father expressly forbade me to speak of it…” 

Arya frowned. “Fine then. I guess I’ll have to ask Father myself,” she said. “Oh, and Gendry?” 

“Yes, m’lady?” 

“I _told_ you. My name is Arya. Call me m’lady one more time and I swear to the gods I’m going to hit you with a snowball.” 

Gendry almost choked when he heard those words. “But… but I can’t. It isn’t proper,” he protested, looking aghast the very idea of it. “You’re a highborn lady, and –” 

“You might not know this yet because you’re new here, but I assure you, I am _not_ a lady,” Arya interrupted him with a furious shake of her head. “My sister is a lady, but I’m not. If I was, then you’d be a prince.” 

An odd look crossed Gendry’s face. “I’m not a prince, m’lady. I’m just a bastard,” he confessed in a low voice, knowing that the moment he said those words, she would lose all interest in him and leave him back to his work. 

To his complete surprise though, Arya Stark did neither of those things. 

“Why are you smiling? Have I said something funny?” Gendry couldn’t help but ask, hoping she wouldn’t notice how annoyed and offended that made him feel. 

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” Arya’s voice trailed off and she let out a small laugh. “You remind of someone.” 

“Who?” 

“Someone I love dearly. He’s a bastard too. The best one there is.” 

A confused frown appeared on Gendry’s face. _Arya Stark was such a strange lady_ , he thought to himself. But even stranger still, he found out that he didn’t mind at all.

 

* * *

  

The next morning, Lady Arya came back to visit him. She was still dressed in breeches, but this time she was carrying two wooden swords with her. But what truly made Gendry nervous was the huge grin she had on her face. He did not like that grin. 

“Say, Gendry,” she began, moving closer to him and fixing him with a wide-eyed stare that was two-thirds curiosity and one-thirds mischief. “Do you know how to wield a sword?” 

Gendry swallowed and took a few steps backward, but Arya mirrored his steps and pressed closer until he found himself slowly backed up against the wall. “I… umm… A little,” he finally said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. Then in a hesitant voice, he added, “Why do you ask?” 

She lifted one of the wooden swords she had been holding and smiled. “Will you practice with me?” she said in a voice that wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

He stared at her, slack-jawed. “Practice?” he repeated. “But... But I can’t fight with a lady! That would be highly improper –” 

“Gendry, tell me true,” Arya interrupted him with a sigh. “Are you a septa or a blacksmith?” 

“That’s completely beside the point!” Gendry argued, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to call her “m’lady” and obey her every command. “I won’t fight with a girl. It’s not honorable.” 

Arya groaned in frustration. “You are such a stubborn bull!” she complained. “Fight me and I’ll show you how fast I can knock you to the ground.” 

He scowled. “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but that won’t happen,” he told her. “I am bigger and stronger than you.” 

“So? I’m faster than you. _And_ I learned from my brothers,” Arya said proudly. “Would you care to test that theory? Or are you too scared to fight a girl like me?” She offered him the wooden sword, hilt first. 

Gendry stared at the offered weapon for a long time. “You, m’lady, are a bully,” he declared. 

In the end, he took the sword.

 

* * *

 

It was just after supper when Harwin found him wandering around the castle grounds alone, his head bent, his hands deep in the pockets of his cloak. It was a moonlit night – a time for secrets, a time for slumber, a time for whispered confessions in the dark – and Gendy could not sleep. 

“Seven Hells, what are you doing out here? You’ll freeze to death,” Harwin scolded him, sounding like the paternal grandfather he never had. 

“It’s just snow,” Gendry said with a shrug. 

Harwin sent him an incredulous look. “Just snow?” he echoed. “This is coming from the lad who won’t stop acting morose and complaining about the weather all the damned time? I thought you hated snow! And… Seven save me, is that an actual smile on your face? I haven’t seen you smile since the moment you came here. Gendry, you’re starting to scare me a little…” 

“Shut it, Harwin,” Gendry responded gruffly, his cheeks turning red at the idea of Harwin seeing him with a stupid smile on his face. He thought of the girl with snowflakes in her hair and a sword in one hand and murmured, “You know, snow isn’t so bad, after all.”

 

 

 


	9. Bedroom Hymns (Robb/Margaery)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Robb/Margaery drabble. Hurray :) 
> 
> Warning: Although short, this chapter contains lots of fluff.

**For the prompt: _Pen and paper (Robb/Margaery)_  **

 

He approaches her from behind and rests his chin on her bare shoulder, but Margaery only laughs and draws away from him, hugging the half-drawn sheets of paper to her chest like they are precious gems.

“I said no peeking,” she says, her voice like honey and silk and all things good in the world, and once again Robb is struck with the sudden realization that, against that voice, he is utterly and completely powerless.

“No fair,” he complains.

“Oh, hush,” Margaery scolds him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

Robb sighs, curls his lips into a pout, and resigns himself to the fact that he would have to wait. So instead he stares at her fingers – ink-stained and slender and perfect – transfixed at the way they ghost over the paper, and imagines what it would feel like to hold them against his palm, to kiss each knuckle and intertwine her fingers through his, to feel how soft they are, how fragile. And in a sudden fit of madness, he imagines how much more beautiful they would look like with a diamond ring on her finger.

Yes, that would be perfect, Robb tells himself, a reckless grin suddenly appearing on his face, and makes a mental note to visit Olenna and take Sansa and Loras ring shopping with him next weekend.

“What are you smiling at?” Margaery suddenly asks him, effectively breaking his thoughts.

“Nothing,” Robb murmurs. “It’s a surprise.”

She smiles at him then, the warmth of it sending sparks coursing through his chest like wildfire. “Well, here’s my surprise for you,” she says. She sidles up to him, seemingly unbothered by her near-nakedness, and proudly shows him the piece of paper she’s been working on since the moment he entered her flat.

Margaery Tyrell is not an artist (far from it) but when Robb sees her drawing – a crudely done sketch of a happy couple holding hands, with a castle in the background and five kids standing on top of a hill (one of whom bore a striking resemblance to Loras) – he knows he has nothing to fear now. When the time comes for him to show Margaery the ring, he knows she will say yes.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another Robb/Marg drabble right after this one, but it was so short (with a word count of less than a hundred) so I opted not to post it here. Besides, I suspect most of you had already seen it on Tumblr anyway, so what's the point. Lol.
> 
> Also... Just to inform you, I won't be taking prompts for a while. I need a short break from all this stuff (not to mention, I really need to get started on that Jaime/Lyanna one-shot I've been meaning to write since, like, forever). Hope you guys are cool with that :)


	10. Everybody's Got Somebody But Me (Arya/Aegon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise. An update! (Yup, contrary to what you may think, I'm not dead yet. Lol.) 
> 
> This was written in a similar vein to my one-shot "A Rush of Blood to the Head", and contains dorky and creepy Aegon. I repeat: Dorky and creepy Aegon. How I managed to turn a perfectly ordinary prompt into a wacko drabble, I don't even know...

 

 **For the prompt: _Aegon is horrified at his own juvenile attempts to get Arya's attention._** ****

 

As far as Myrcella was concerned, Rhaenys’ younger brother Aegon was a 9.5 out of 10 on the hotness scale. He came from a perfectly good and well-respected family (never mind those rumors of his grandfather being a pyromaniac), was captain of the swim team at one of the most highly prestigious universities in the country, and was an all-around gentleman. (Myrcella was a living testament to this, since she had been the recipient of Aegon’s good grace just four hours prior to dance rehearsal, wherein he’d saved her from what would have undoubtedly been a nasty ride on the back of Joff’s car – her older brother had a thing for Swiss Army knives and BDSM toys, something Myrcella did not like to reminded of on a daily basis, thank you very much – by offering her a ride on his fancy new car.) 

Of course, it also helped that Aegon was not terrible to look at. (No, scratch that, he was the very antithesis of terrible.) Although there was that one time back in high school when he’d foolishly dyed his hair blue, something Rhaenys liked to remind him of whenever Aegon felt like bitching to her about past grievances and Rhaenys’ ever-increasing list of horrible life choices, it did not in any way diminish Aegon’s popularity with the masses. 

At one point in her life, Myrcella had been one of those ladies, but thankfully Trystane came along and saved her from having a one-sided romance with a guy who looked eerily like the man her mother once dreamed of marrying. Besides, she wasn’t at all sure her friendship with Rhaenys would survive had she been foolish enough to pursue her friend’s brother. Just the idea of telling Rhaenys that she and Cersei Lannister would have to be family was enough to give her nightmares. Myrcella was brave, true, but she was not _that_ brave. So yes, thank god for Trystane. 

Her mother would surely disagree – after all, she would have gladly sold her daughter to the Targaryens if it would mean Myrcella would stop fraternizing with the Martells – but as always, whenever the subject of Aegon Targaryen came around the dinner table, Myrcella was quick to make her point.

Aegon was a good guy and any girl would be lucky to have him, that much Myrcella was certain of. However, he had one glaring flaw. The guy was hopelessly and completely in love with Arya Stark.

 

* * *

 

Aegon knew he was not supposed to bother her again to the point of risking being branded as a violet-eyed lunatic. After all, there were only so many times he could personally go up the counter and ask for a refill of coffee or a packet of sugar before someone grew tired of his obnoxious demands and banned him from the shop altogether. 

By nature, he was not a demanding customer, but when the object of his affections worked in a coffee shop three times a week, Thursdays to Saturdays, from three in the afternoon to nine in the evening (god, Aegon could recite her schedule in his sleep), it was hard not to constantly look for ways to seek her attention. 

For one thing, he always made sure his requests were directed at Arya rather than at her fellow Crossroads’ employees, one of whom was a rosy-cheeked fellow named Hot Pie who was afflicted with a persistent need to snigger whenever Aegon so much as breathed air next to Arya. 

Whenever that failed to grab her attention, or whenever her tall friend with the permanently grumpy look on his face felt like he’d already harassed Arya enough to the point of what is deemed more than normal in everyday society, Aegon would then offer his services to the shop. This would involve standing next to Arya behind the counter and, much to her consternation, charming the customers – mostly university students like him – into buying the recommended set meal of the day. Aegon liked to think that harmlessly flirting with the female customers made Arya jealous, but then again, with Arya, he can never be too sure. 

Trystane liked to call his infatuation with the younger Stark girl the “Arya virus”, something that provided a constant source of amusement to his Martell cousins whenever they ventured South to visit them at the Red Keep. Goods would be exchanged between the men – even the adults were not exempted – and based on the ever-present smirk on Uncle Obi’s face, Aegon had reason to believe that betting on his doomed status as a bachelor was fast becoming his uncle’s new lifeblood. Add that to Rhaenys’ undisguised attempts to recruit their cousins in a mission aptly named Operation: Dragonwolf, and it would be enough to drive any sane person mad. Sometimes Aegon wondered how he was able to successfully survive these Targaryen-Martell family reunions with his head still intact. 

But then again, he was just as crazy as his Martell cousins, even though most of the time he did not show it. It was an unwanted and unfortunate consequence of falling in love with a girl like Arya Stark. Girls like her, as his uncle’s friend Tyrion liked to point out, ate men for breakfast and spat them out just as easily. But still, Aegon knew he had to try. (And by god, he tried.) 

When he was twelve, the first memory he had of Arya was of her punching Joffrey Baratheon in the face in the middle of recess for daring to steal a kid’s lunchbox. She was all scabbed knees and wild eyes and muddied clothes back then – a thin slip of a girl who talked about honor and justice and the value of friendship as though she knew exactly what those words meant – and though Madame Mordane managed to stop the fight from escalating further, she was able to do more than verbally damage her opponent. By the time the Lannister boy ran away howling and sobbing, clutching his broken nose in agony, Aegon knew he was a goner. He had stared at Arya Stark with wide eyes, and in a voice that was equal parts wonder and equal parts arrogance, he’d then declared to her and to every kid on the playground that one day he would marry her. 

Of course, nobody took him seriously. Not even when he showed up at her house one week later, laptop in tow, and gave her family an extremely detailed Powerpoint presentation enumerating the various reasons why he should be allowed to marry Arya. He remembered Catelyn Stark laughing at him fondly, Ned Stark looking torn between parental indignation and amusement, and Arya’s siblings… No, Aegon would not go there. Some memories were best left alone. 

Everyone thought his silly little crush on Arya would stop there, but they’d been wrong. At seventeen, Aegon had dyed his hair blue and joined a psychedelic rock band just because he’d heard that Arya was heavily into rock music at that time. Fortunately for his parents and the entire student body, all of whom had to suffer through his painful guitar solo at the school’s annual fundraising party, his musical journey had only lasted two weeks, no thanks to lead singer Daemon Sand, who promptly kicked him out of the band with the excuse that he was stealing all the ladies. (Rhaegar had secretly sighed, patted his son on the back, and called him a true Targaryen once more.) 

Then there was that time Aegon deliberately flunked High Valyrian class just so he could get Arya to tutor him. Never mind the fact that she was so much younger than him and that the idea of _her_ tutoring _him_ on an advanced AP class was laughable. And if his father scolded him so hard for getting bad grades that he won’t even have time to cry out for mercy? So what? That was a price Aegon had been willing to pay. 

By the time he went away to university, still without winning Arya’s undying love and devotion, Aegon was feeling fairly confident that he would be able to forget her. But that was before he found out that Jon Stark would be his roommate. Jon Stark, whose desktop wallpaper was a picture of him and Arya hiking through the Eyrie. Jon Stark, who talked to Arya on the phone almost every day and kept Aegon informed of all things related to his long time crush. Jon Stark, who Arya visited every month, without fail, just so she could drag him – and Aegon, by virtue of his newfound friendship with her brother– downtown to eat sushi or play beer pong.

He’d almost sought shelter in Viserys’ posh apartment near campus the moment he first saw Jon’s tall frame standing on the threshold of his dorm room, his uncle’s obsession with dragons and incestuous Greek mythology be damned. But in the end, Jon had proven himself a worthy roommate, and Aegon soon learned that he could be good company, provided he wasn’t too busy threatening him if Aegon so much as looked at his sister funny. 

But Aegon couldn’t help it. Arya Stark was funny, smart, athletic, loyal, and… hell, she even worked part-time at a coffee shop just because her friend needed the extra help. What else could he possibly look for in a woman? 

“Aegon, I swear to God, if you’ve come here again asking for another packet of sugar, I am going to strangle you with the ties of my apron and force feed you an entire bottle of insulin,” Arya complained the minute she saw Aegon’s familiar form approaching from the other side of the shop. 

Oh, right. Aegon had almost forgotten how snarky she was. 

He blushed a deep shade of red and fiddled with the straws on the counter, feeling like a child caught red-handed at a candy store. If Arya was anything at all like the kind of girls his Uncle Oberyn used to trick him into dating, maybe he could have said something along the lines of “feed me cake” or, you know, something equally suggestive and flirty. Maybe he could’ve even gotten rid of this stupid crush years ago and saved himself a lot of trouble. But as it was, there was no escaping the Arya virus. It was practically embedded in his DNA. 

“Just another coffee, please,” Aegon mumbled, trying hard not to look like he was admiring the way the fluorescent lights made Arya's hair shine from afar. God, he had it bad. 

Arya rolled her eyes at him. “One coffee coming right up,” she said in a bored tone. “Anything else I can get you?” 

 _How about your heart?_ Aegon almost said out loud. But the thought of Arya pouring a steaming cup of coffee right in his face did not sound particularly appealing to him, so instead, he forced himself to bite his tongue and shake his head. _Maybe next time._

 

* * *

  

From the other side of the Crossroads’ coffee shop, half-hidden behind a pot of blooming roses and a tall tower of strawberry tarts, an elderly matron observed them with well-concealed exasperation. She shook her head as she poured her tea and bemoaned the fact that young people these days were such blustering, clueless fools. It was a pity, really. 

And that boy. Such a pretty face… but by god, he was even more oafish than her late husband. And the girl certainly wasn’t doing him any favors either. One would think that someone who had Brandon Stark for an uncle would have more insight into the art of love, but then again, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. This was Ned Stark’s daughter, after all. 

Olenna’s mind spun. Normally, she wouldn’t concern herself with a Targaryen – madness tended to run in that family and she wanted no part in it – and yet looking at the poor boy a few feet from her, it was impossible not to feel pity for him. 

She sighed. It had been a while since she last had a good challenge. She remembered the many hours she’d spent toiling over Margaery’s complicated love affair with the Stark boy. Now _that_ had been fun. But now with a wedding on the way, Willas’ own engagement to Sansa Stark about to be announced, and her sweet darling Loras safely in the arms of his true love, Olenna had nothing else to do. She was, to put it simply, _bored._

But maybe not for long, she mused as she watched the Targaryen boy make a complete fool of himself once more. Perhaps this latest development would provide a similar form of amusement for an old woman like her. _Very well then,_ she decided as she reached for her phone. _Rhaegar Targaryen, you better thank me for this._

 _Good evening, my dear,_ she began to type. _I have heard the most delightful thing from my spies today. I trust Operation: Dragonwolf is still in motion? I would like to pledge my full support…_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured, I have not forgotten the rest of the prompts I still owe some of you. But due to my hectic schoolwork, updates will be sporadic at best. Sorry guys XD


	11. Well That Was Easy (Arya/Aegon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that? I actually made a sequel! Haha. (I know, I can't believe it either.) Consider this a thank-you gift to all the wonderful people who left me comments and encouraged me to write more. You guys are awesome!
> 
> You know the drill. Major fluff and crazy stuff ahead. You've been warned.

 

**For the prompt: _Everybody’s Got Somebody But Me sequel_**

The familiar scent of freshly ground coffee greeted Arya as she opened the door to the Crossroads coffee shop thirty minutes after her shift was supposed to start and walked in. She looked as though a hurricane just chased her inside. Her left boot was unlaced, her hair was sticking out in all directions (she’d forgotten her helmet in her locker and was too lazy to go get it back), and there were grass stains on her shirt, evidence of an afternoon spent playing her favorite sport. 

Behind the counter, Gendry grunted and greeted her with a surliness customarily reserved for demanding customers and high school girls desperately trying to flirt with him. “You’re late,” he grumbled, arms crossed and lips turned into a downward frown. One glance at Arya’s appearance though and his angry expression slipped down a notch. “What was it this time?”

“Rickon,” Arya replied with a long-suffering sigh as she shook out the snowflakes from her hair and bent down to tie her shoelace. “He got into a fight with one of the Frey boys at school and almost got suspended. Knowing my brother, he would have crippled the poor guy and tossed his body into a river somewhere if only he could get away with it. Thank god Shireen was there. And thank god the principal called me and Sansa instead of Mum and Dad.” 

Gendry raised an eyebrow. “Why _did_ the principal call you and Sansa instead of your Mum and Dad?” 

“Because Rickon is a smart kid and he knows exactly who he should place as his emergency contact? Out of the six of us, Sansa is the one who can best charm her way out of any situation – you should have seen her talking to Rickon’s principal, she was amazing – and as for me… Rickon knows I’ll always take his side – the little shit – plus, I’m the only one who can convince Sansa not to tell on our parents.” 

“And they say Robb is the scariest one in your family.” 

Arya grinned at him. “Trust me, he isn’t,” she replied. “Speaking of scary people… where’s Jeyne? Has she started throwing things yet? Because honestly, the last thing I need right now is her screaming her ass off at me for being thirty minutes late for a shift I didn’t even sign up for. I told her I’d rather work overtime tomorrow than show up today. I told her that, didn’t I? ‘Cause I have that thing… You know, that dinner thing I have with Mom and Sansa and Aunt Lysa? The one I told you I’d rather cut my leg off than attend? Yeah well, that means I have to be home before 8, which means I have to cancel my lessons with Jaqen, not to mention check in on Rickon before he does something stupid – _again –_ and then there’s this paper I have to write for History class… Seriously, could this day get any worse?” 

“Actually…” Gendry started to say, clearing his throat and giving her a look that, in guy language (and Arya was well versed in guy language), roughly translated to “ _Fuckshitgoddammit_ Arya you should have stayed at home instead”, but it was too late. At that precise moment, a familiar silver-haired guy walked in from the back entrance, interrupting whatever sage words of advice Gendry about to tell her. When the man saw Arya, his entire face lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“Hey, Arya,” Aegon greeted her in that half-timid, half-cheerful voice of his that Arya would have found highly adorable (but only if she had been forced to admit that at gunpoint) had he not been wearing a uniform that looked suspiciously similar to her own. A terrible sense of foreboding gripped her as she stared in horror at the shiny, new nametag pinned perfectly on his left breast pocket. 

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.” 

She whirled on Gendry, comprehension dawning on her face. “Where's Lommy?” 

Gendry shrugged. “He’s gone,” he told her. “Last I heard, he got some fancy new job at the Reach. Folks say Olenna Tyrell took a liking to him and personally offered him a job, but…ah, that’s probably just a rumour. We’re talking about Lommy here, after all.” 

Arya cursed under her breath. “That traitor!” 

“It’s okay, Arya, I can –” 

At the sound of his voice, Arya’s attention snapped back to Aegon. “What? You honestly think this is a good idea? Aegon, c’mon. If your father finds out you’ve lowered yourself by getting a job at a coffee shop, he would murder you,” she told him, trying to keep her voice as calm and reasonable as possible. 

Aegon sent her one of his signature, toothpaste-commercial smiles, an unwelcome distraction on Arya’s part. _Damn those Targaryens. Damn them and their good genes._

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Dad won’t mind. Besides, I just wanted to help,” Aegon said by way of explanation. 

And the thing was, he sounded so sincere about it that it only made Arya feel all the more ridiculous for caring. Aegon was Jon’s friend. He was Arya’s friend. In fact, he was everyone’s friend. (Well, everyone except Gendry’s.) It was hard not to like him, especially since he had an uncanny ability of always being available whenever Arya got herself into tight situations, like that time Arya got stranded at Wylla’s party without a ride home, or that time she almost got caught for keying Joffrey’s car just a day after he broke up with her sister. He was a genuinely okay person, except for those fleeting moments when he acted all weird and awkward around her, and thinking hard about it, Arya was surprised at how violently she was reacting to the situation. She shouldn’t care at all that Aegon had decided to work part-time at the coffee shop. They needed all the extra help that they could get. But the thing was, she did care. She couldn’t stop herself from caring. And the worst part about it was she didn’t even know _why_. 

Arya sighed. “Fine, whatever,” she muttered, figuring that maybe if she just ignored him, he would go away. She walked toward the half-empty crate of boxes in the corner, determined to finally start her job, but before she could even get them halfway across the room, they were lifted from her. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Aegon offered her, tiny spots of red appearing on his cheeks the moment his hand made contact with Arya’s skin in his haste to help her. 

So much for ignoring him. Arya closed her eyes, lifted her face to the ceiling, and begged the universe to grant her patience. This was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

  

The elevator doors opened with a cheerful ping. Arya looked up from the text message she had been composing, just in time to see the last person she ever expected to see step into the lift with her. 

“Aegon?” she exclaimed in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here? I literally just saw you fifteen minutes ago at work. Are you following me?” 

Aegon’s face went red at the accusation. “What? Of course not,” he mumbled. “I’m here to see Margaery. She has a package for Rhaenys. Apparently it’s too top secret to be delivered via mail. What are you doing here?” 

“Willas called me. Said he needed my help planning a surprise party for my sister. You do know Willas, right? Sansa’s fiancé?” 

“Yeah, of course.” He sent her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about this. Please don’t freak out. I swear to God I’m not following you.” 

Arya scowled at him. “Freak out? Why on earth would I freak out?” she said in a voice that sounded way too defensive for her liking.

As if on cue, the elevator shuddered to a halt. Then they were plunged into complete darkness. 

Several agonizing seconds passed. To Arya it felt like hours. She closed her eyes and waited for the power to come back on – they were at the Tyrell building, and Arya was sensible enough to know that mundane things like power outages simply did _not_ happen in the Tyrell building – but to her surprise, everything remained silent. No hum of power. No light. Nothing. 

She blindly felt her way to the corner of the elevator, ignoring Aegon’s muttered curses in High Valyrian, and groped for the emergency switch button. She pushed it three, four times, impatient to get to the 30th floor, but nothing happened. 

“Okay, _now_ I’m freaking out.” 

Fast-forward two hours, forty three minutes, and eighteen seconds later. Arya slumped back on her side of the elevator – she had drawn an invisible line between them, and she would be damned before she allowed Aegon to cross the other side – and rested her forehead on her knees, feeling utterly spent. She and Aegon had done just about everything they could in order to get out of the tightly cramped space they found themselves in, but their luck held out. 

They had tried climbing the top of the elevator, the way they’d seen people in movies do, when the bad guys were coming and the hero had to make a timely escape, but no matter what they did, the tiny hatch on the ceiling remained shut. Failing that, Aegon had tried prying the doors open using his bare hands, but not even the many hours he’d spent doing heavy lifting at the gym could prepare him for this kind of hell. They’d cursed and yelled and shouted for help, but no one came to their rescue. Arya had tried to call Jon, Sansa, and just about everybody on her phonebook, but unsurprisingly, she got no signal. Same thing happened when Aegon tried his phone.

Then, as if the situation wasn’t bad enough, Arya’s stomach chose that moment to growl. The sound was like a dying animal, like one of those helpless, baby mountain lions she’d seen featured once on Animal Planet, and within the tiny confines of their box, the sound was amplified. The last meal she had was the fresh loaf of bread she’d stolen straight from Hot Pie’s hands as a way to get back at him for taunting her about Aegon, and that had been hours ago. She sighed in frustration and tried hard not to think about the lovely fillet mignon that was her mother’s specialty. 

Something rustled in the darkness, and a moment later, Arya felt the smooth wrapper of a granola bar gently being pressed into her hands. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, feeling a sudden and unwanted rush of gratitude toward Aegon. She broke the granola bar in two and gave the other half back to him, ignoring his quiet protests. 

It was too dark to see his face, but even without the poor lighting, Arya could feel him watching her. 

“Sorry about this,” Aegon murmured in a low voice. 

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault this happened.” 

“I know. I just…” He exhaled softly. “I don’t like seeing you in distress, okay?” 

“I’m just hungry, Aegon. Don’t worry about it. I’ll live.” 

There was a pause. “Tell you what,” he finally said. “If no one comes to our rescue after three days, I’ll let you eat me so you can survive.” 

“Oh my god, did you just make a _joke?”_ Despite the horridness of the situation, Arya couldn’t help but laugh. “Huh. Who knew you had a sense of humor? These days you’re always acting so weird and funny around me that I keep forgetting that you’re still a normal guy.” 

An embarrassed sound made its way out of Aegon’s throat. “You think I’m weird? And funny? Like, crazy town banana pants funny?” he said, sounding completely mortified. 

“Aegon, before Jeyne hired you at the shop, you were the single most annoying customer I have ever met. You used to order six cups of coffee every day, excluding dessert, takeout sandwiches, and those tiny packets of sugar you liked to personally bully me into giving you. Sometimes I’m not sure you’re even human. And that was before you went away to college. Do you need me to remind you about the things that _happened_ back in high school?” 

“No! I mean, there’s no need…” Arya was pretty sure she could feel the heat of Aegon’s blush all the way across the other side of their tiny makeshift space. “Okay, sure. So maybe I _do_ act a little… odd when I’m around you. But I can’t help it, okay? You… Arya, you make me feel…” 

There was a long silence that followed after that. Arya waited for Aegon to say something more, but for some stupid reason, he remained silent. Finally, Arya couldn’t take the suspense any longer, so she blurted out, “What? I make you feel what?” 

“You make me feel… nervous? ‘Cause you’re Jon’s sister and Jon and I are friends and then you and I are friends and… you could be really scary sometimes?” Aegon finished lamely. 

The tension in the air broke and Arya rolled her eyes. “Thank you for that very profound answer, Aegon. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch for scaring people,” she said, only half-kidding. 

She huffed and cursed herself for even allowing the remote possibility that Aegon was about to say something serious. Whatever. She had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that she was hungry and trapped and cold and sleepy, and oh god, she can’t sleep here. Not now, not when she’s supposed to be waiting for rescue… 

An hour and a half later, when the elevators were finally repaired, the Tyrells found the bodies of Arya Stark and Aegon Targaryen curled up next to each other on the floor, Aegon’s navy blue coat shielding them from the worst of the cold. 

Arya was so shocked to find herself waking up with her face pressed against Aegon’s chest and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist that she didn’t even look twice at their rescuers. If she had, perhaps she would have seen the tiny victorious smile flash on Olenna Tyrell’s face for just a second.

 

* * *

  

“Why does this keep happening to me?” Arya wailed to no one in particular as she took her assigned seat next to Aegon Targaryen on the night of her brother’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell, the prominent scowl on her face looking completely at odds with the festive environment. 

All around them, couples were dancing, the huge grand ballroom filled with the rich sound of girls laughing and wine glasses being clinked. She thought she could spy her mother’s auburn hair weaving through the crowds, accepting the congratulations of all of Westerosi’s finest on behalf of Robb, who was too busy mooning over his new bride to pay attention to anyone else. Across the room, Asha Greyjoy was engaged in some kind of knife battle with Tormund Giantsbane, Rickon was trying to bribe Osha into helping him hide Shaggydog from their parents (Catelyn Stark’s last words to him being, “So help me God, Rickon, if you bring your pet wolf to your brother’s wedding, I will ground you till you’re thirty”), one of the Tyrell cousins was trying to flirt with Tommen Baratheon, and once or twice, she thought she even saw her uncle Brandon running away from the clutches of Barbrey Dustin with a desperation borne out of a deeply rooted fear of being stuck with the lady in question for the entire night while his best friends Tyrion Lannister and Oberyn Martell looked on in amusement. 

Meanwhile, Arya was stuck entertaining Aegon at their table because everyone was too busy having a good time to pay attention to her plight. Even Jon, the one person she could reliably count upon to come to her rescue, had been distracted and had left her side for a chance to talk to the loud-mouthed redhead he’d been crushing on for months. 

Arya groaned and risked a glance at Aegon, only to find him looking at her with a dopey smile on his face. Great, so he was in another one of those weird moods again. Perfect. 

“You know, this isn’t funny anymore,” she complained. “Why do I keep getting stuck with you? I don’t think this is even coincidence anymore. Be honest, Aegon. Are you doing this on purpose?” 

This wiped the smile off Aegon’s face. “W-what?” he spluttered, the redness of his cheeks contrasting horribly with his silver hair. “Of course not! I would never! You’re seriously accusing me of rigging the seating arrangement? Jesus Christ, Arya. Just because I’m in love with you doesn’t mean –” 

Arya gaped at him. “You’re _what?”_  

All too late, Aegon realized the precise nature by which he chose to reveal his secret, and he immediately shut up. His face did a series of expressions –all of them varying degrees of horror and mortification – and for a second, he contemplated the idea of running away. Yes, living the rest of his life in a small hut in the middle of the Northern wilderness sounded just about right. He should get started on that plan. 

“N-nothing,” he stammered in a panic. “Forget I said anything.” 

“You just said you’re in love with me,” Arya accused him, looking extremely shell-shocked. “You can’t just take that back.” 

Aegon blushed. “Fine then,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in an effort to calm his nerves. “I’m in love with you. You happy now?”

“Since when?” 

Aegon studiously avoided her gaze. 

“Aegon, _come on._ Since when?” 

“Since seventh grade,” he finally confessed. 

Arya stared disbelievingly at him. “That long?” she exclaimed, hardly daring to believe that they were really having this conversation right now. She hit him none-too-gently on the arm and asked him, “Why the hell did you never say anything?” 

“Hey, I did! I even made a Powerpoint presentation for you.” 

“Yeah, when I was _six.”_ Arya exhaled loudly and mentally cursed Aegon – and herself – for being such an idiot. “How was I supposed to know that you were serious?” 

“Like I said,” Aegon replied solemnly. “I’m in love with you.” 

There was a long and awkward moment wherein Arya just groaned and buried her head in her hands, and Aegon kept on coughing awkwardly and hoping that the ground would swallow him whole. 

“Do you...” Aegon hesitantly started to ask, when he finally couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Do you… like me too?” 

Arya bit her lip and pondered the question for a while. In the end, she just shrugged helplessly at him, looking a little flustered herself, and muttered, “I don’t know. Maybe?” 

Aegon felt his heart leap wildly in his chest. _Holy shit,_ his addled mind screamed at him. _Did I just hear her right?_ Aegon could hardly contain himself. In his excitement, he did the only thing he could think of in that moment. He kissed her. 

The girl he'd been crushing on for years blinked at him, looking stunned. “The fuck was that for?” 

“You said you liked me.” 

“I said _maybe.”_

Aegon grinned at her. “I know you, Arya Stark. Your maybe means _yes,”_ he told her happily, his shyness evaporating like mist in light of this recent turn of events. He kissed her again, and Arya was forced to swallow whatever protest she was about to tell him. Aegon Targaryen may be an annoying piece of shit, but he sure knew how to kiss a woman. “I’ll take maybe,” he cheerfully added, taking advantage of Arya’s momentary confusion to draw her closer to him. 

“You know,” Arya mumbled as she allowed Aegon to take her hand and lace his fingers through hers, “I think I preferred it when you were shy and awkward.” 

“And I prefer you like this, right next to me.” 

Arya only rolled her eyes at his veiled attempt at sappiness and sighed. “I’m going to regret this later, won't I?” 

“Probably,” Aegon agreed, not looking particularly bothered by her statement. “But don’t worry. I’ll be here to stop you from changing your mind.” 

Arya Stark gave a resigned sigh. _Seven save me. What have I just gotten myself into?_

* * *

Rhaenys raised her glass to her lips and locked eyes with Olenna Tyrell. She swallowed the wine, savoring the lush taste of victory on her tongue, and smiled indulgently at Margaery Tyrell’s grandmother. 

“To Operation: Dragonwolf,” she said. 

Olenna raised her glass in turn. “Operation: Dragonwolf,” she echoed, smiling back at her before finally turning on her heel and walking away. 

Rhaegar Targaryen stared at the Tyrell matriarch’s retreating form in bewilderment. “What was that all about?” he asked his daughter. 

“Nothing, Daddy,” his beloved Rhae assured him, placing a calming hand on his arm. Then as an afterthought, she added, “By the way, we ought to renew our contract with the Tyrells. It would be good for business. A six-month contract sounds just about right. But if they insist, maybe we can push it up to one year.”

“And why would I do that?” 

“Oh, it’s a long story.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll have enough free time and energy left to do the rest of the prompts, but don't worry. Like I said in my previous chapter, I haven't forgotten them.


	12. Take My Love and Run (Arya/Aegon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hate the way this turned out, but whatever. I might as well just post it instead of letting it sit in my drafts folder for all of eternity.

 

**For the prompt: _Best friends who realize their feelings for each other_**

 

ARYA STARK’S THREE-STEP GUIDE TO FINDING HAPPINESS

 

_Step 1: Find a new best friend._

Arya Stark had room for only one best friend in her life, and that best friend was Jon. She had four other siblings aside from him, a multitude of friends – both in and out of school, but not one of them could ever compare to her brother. Nobody understood her like he did. Arya didn’t believe in soul mates, but how else could she explain her platonically perfect relationship with Jon, other than to say that he was her other half? From the moment she’d been born, Jon had always been there for her. So she never really thought the day would come when he would leave her. 

When her brother got drafted to the army, Arya knew that things would change. Jon tried to reassure her that they wouldn’t - he would text her every day, go home for Christmas and holidays, and hey, they could always Facetime, right? – but no matter what he said, it didn’t change the fact that Arya was about to lose her best friend. And losing him? It frickin _hurt._ It was like losing a limb. And Arya, who can usually be counted upon to take care of herself and put on a brave face even in the midst of stressful situations, couldn’t help but feel a bit lost herself. It was a feeling that would take a little getting used to. 

That’s when Aegon Targaryen came into the picture. They weren’t especially close, but she knew him. They traveled in the same social circles  - he used to play on Robb’s hockey team, he and his family lived a few blocks from Arya’s house, in the same exclusive neighborhood as the Lannisters and the Tyrells, and he had a habit of showing up to the same parties and fundraiser balls her mother always forced her to attend (she had a feeling that he, too, was not there by his own choice). But if anyone had told her years ago that Aegon would be more than just a friendly face in the crowd, Arya would have laughed. The thought was absurd, especially since outside of business meetings and social functions, the Starks and the Targaryens haven’t exactly been on the best of terms. She supposed she had her late Aunt Lyanna to thank for that. 

But just like Aunt Lyanna’s strange affair with Aegon’s father, stranger things have happened. And Aegon becoming her new best friend was one of them. 

It all started the day Jon went away. Arya was at the library, her face pressed between the pages of her open Calculus textbook, trying hard not to think about Jon’s sad expression when he hugged her for the last time and bid her farewell at the airport. He’d texted her once to say that the plane had taken off safely, with quick promises to call her as soon as he landed in Afghanistan, but it wasn’t the same and Arya knew it. Things would never be the same again between them. The thought was so depressing Arya gave in to the sudden inexplicable urge to bang her head against the table. 

“Arya?”

She looked up with bleary eyes and found herself face to face with Aegon Targaryen. He was staring at her with an amused expression on his face, no doubt wondering why someone like her was hiding out at the library at four in the afternoon on a Saturday. 

“Hey, are you okay? Any particular reason why you’re playing ‘bash your skull’ at this hour?” 

“Leave me alone. I’m depressed,” Arya muttered in as morose a tone as possible, burying her face back in her book.

Aegon let out a sympathetic sigh and sat down on the empty seat across from her. “Well, I would be too, if I had to read a book as boring as that one,” he confessed amiably, his smile widening once he saw her affronted expression. _Excuse you,_ Arya almost said out loud, _I happen to like Calculus._  

She watched him as he set down his laptop and proceeded to do his homework right in front of her, looking completely unaware that she wasn’t in the mood to have her own personal space invaded at the moment. If she wanted company, she would’ve stayed at home with Bran and Rickon. 

Her new companion paused from the act of typing and tilted his head to inspect her, his gaze warm and curious. “So? What exactly is it that’s bothering you? Is it a guy?” 

“No,” she grumbled. “I mean, yes. It’s my brother, Jon. He went off and joined the army.” 

Aegon’s eyebrows rose so high they almost reached the ceiling. “Wait... is this, like, a Cersei and Jaime Lannister kind of thing? Because if it is –” 

“What? No, it’s not like that!” Arya protested vehemently, her eyes growing wide at the suggestion. “Jon’s my best friend, okay? I’m just upset that he’s gone.”

“Oh. I see.” Aegon did not even bother trying to hide his relief. 

“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to understand –” 

“Are you kidding me?” he said with a laugh. “Of course I understand. I experienced the same thing when Rhae went away to college. It’s a shitty feeling, isn’t it? Being left behind? But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll cope just fine.” 

“How? It’s not that simple.” 

“Sure it is."

Arya frowned dubiously at him.

"Tell you what, I’ll help you. Just follow my instructions, okay?” 

She could’ve easily said no – family connections or not, she didn’t trust him, and besides, she wasn’t in the mood – but a tiny part of herself (that tiny part that sounded a lot like her mother telling her to be nice to strangers) made her stop and swallow whatever protest she was about to say. She decided to humor him just this once. “Okay,” she agreed. 

“Right then.” Aegon cleared his throat and shot her a teasing smile. “It’s simple, really. All you need to do is to shake my hand and repeat after me, ‘Hi, my name is Arya Stark’.” 

“Hi, my name is Arya Stark,” Arya said dully, the corners of her mouth threatening to lift upward at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

“Hi, I’m Aegon Targaryen,” he introduced himself. "I’m going to be your new best friend.”

 

* * *

 

Arya thought it was Aegon’s idea of a joke, but the very next day he showed up at the library again and kept her company, his steady stream of chatter and complaints about the injustice of being forced to write a 30-page essay on dead kings distracting her long enough to make her forget Jon's absence. The next day he was there again. And the next day. And the next. And when Arya finally felt tired of moping around in the library and decided to go on a day trip, Aegon accompanied her, no questions asked. 

He wasn’t the strangest friend she’d ever had – that title still belonged to Jaqen H’ghar – but at first it felt weird hanging out with him. Usually it was Arya befriending strangers, not the other way around, but Aegon was really nice and funny and quick to please, and it didn’t take her long before she was dragging him off to Sunday football games and indie movie marathons at the Bronx and beach parties at the Manderlys. Bran learned to let Aegon in at odd hours of the night (usually with a slightly inebriated Arya in tow), Sansa always remembered to bake enough lemon cakes to include her sister’s new friend, and even Rickon grudgingly agreed to train Shaggydog not to attack him on sight. Even Robb had started calling him Arya’s Best Friend Number Two, much to everyone’s amusement. 

Jon had jokingly expressed his annoyance upon hearing the news, but Arya could tell he was pleased and relieved to hear that she seemed to be doing well despite his absence. Still though, she made it a point never to let Aegon know that Jon called him “the Usurper” behind his back.

 

* * *

 

_Step 2: Fall in love with him._

Becoming Aegon’s friend was easy, but falling in love with him took time.

The moment Arya realized that her feelings for her best friend had changed started the summer after Aegon came back from California, where he’d spent the last three weeks visiting his Martell cousins and helping his uncle deal with family affairs (something about his Uncle Obi getting in trouble with the Russian mafia). It was the longest three weeks Arya had been away from Aegon in all the time that she’d known him, and she tried not to let her relief show too much when she saw him standing on her front porch with a box of pizza balanced on one arm, looking as though he’d never even left. 

“Hey, stranger,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Hey yourself,” Aegon replied, closing the distance between them and enveloping her into a quick hug. “Please tell me you didn’t get a new best friend while I was gone.” 

Arya laughed. “Hot Pie came pretty close to snagging the title, but don’t worry, your spot is still secure,” she teased him.

“Good to know.” Aegon threw his arm around her shoulders (just like old times) and steered her back inside the house. “Now c’mon. Tell me all about your summer.” 

Arya obliged him, ignoring the way Aegon’s newly acquired tan and close proximity made her stomach flip. That’s odd, she thought. She must have missed him more than she’d realized.

 

* * *

 

The odd twinge in her gut came back with a vengeance three weeks later when they were hanging out at Arya’s kitchen, trying to avoid getting roped into helping her siblings decorate the house for the Starks’ annual Halloween party later that night. 

“I’m just saying,” Aegon mumbled in between mouthfuls of Sansa’s special lemon cakes, the ones Arya managed to pilfer with Rickon’s help, “Sports cars are nice and all, but I wouldn’t trade my motorcycle for the world. Uncle Obi tried to get me to switch to a Ferrari, but I said no, I’d rather ride my bike to campus, thank you very much. I mean, we’re talking about grade-9 titanium exhaust pipes and 225-rear wheel horse power here, right?” 

“Uh huh,” was all Arya could say as she watched Aegon devour his lemon cake, her eyes completely hypnotized by the movement of his tongue as it darted out to lick the frosting from his bottom lip. Had his lips always looked so… soft? So inviting? Arya had never before paid much attention to her best friend’s eating habits, not to mention his visually pleasing facial features, but now she wondered what it would feel like to have those lips pressed against hers. The last man she’d kissed had tasted like mint toothpaste and chocolate (an oddly weird combination that Arya had liked at that time), but she imagined Aegon would taste different. Perhaps like honey and cotton candy, or something equally sweet to suit his personality. Arya found herself plagued by the need to know for herself. 

“Arya? Hello, are you even listening to me?” 

She snapped out of her daze and almost fell out of her chair in her haste to get up. Ears red and gaze averted, she muttered a quick excuse, something about helping Bran with his Hiccup costume, and fled out of the kitchen, ignoring Aegon’s puzzled expression and his pleas for her to come back. 

What the hell was happening to her?

 

* * *

  

It got even worse when Aegon showed up for the Halloween party several hours later, looking like a Norse god straight out of the gates of Valhalla in his indecently cool Thor costume. Which she totally did not know about, by the way, or else she wouldn’t have dressed up as Lady Sif, because now everyone would think that they did it on purpose. Like they were a couple or something. And the last thing Arya needed when she was having such conflicting feelings for her best friend was for everyone else to come to the same conclusion as she did.

But there was no avoiding Aegon at a party like this. There were only so many times she can hide herself behind Hot Pie’s gigantic burrito costume for so long before he started to catch on to the fact that she was trying to avoid him. But what else was she supposed to do? Short of blurting out the fact that his Thor costume was making her horny, there was nothing else she could do except hide. 

It also didn’t help matters that Alla Tyrell had been kind enough to apologize to her for trying to flirt with Aegon mere minutes before Arya joined her family downstairs for the celebration. Apparently, Arya’s reputation had preceded her. “I’m so sorry, Arya,” an apologetic Alla told her once she found her huddled between Mr. and Mrs. Baratheon, who came dressed as Maleficent and Henry VIII, respectively. “I didn’t know you and Aegon were together. I honestly didn’t! You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” 

Like that was supposed to make her feel better? Arya didn’t have the heart to correct her mistake – she was confused enough already without having Marg’s cousin added to the mix – so she had only nodded and smiled at her, intent on finding Gendry and Lommy in a pathetic attempt to distract herself from the way her heart was pounding frantically in her chest at the mere mention of her best friend’s name. 

In the end, Aegon found her playing beer pong with Theon, who looked ridiculous dressed up as an 18th century Scottish lad to match Jeyne’s Claire Beauchamp outfit. Luckily for Theon, Aegon was too busy snatching Arya away from them to tease him about the kilt. 

“There you are!” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, almost hitting her on the head with his hammer in his haste to get to her. “I’ve been searching for you for ages! The party’s almost ending and we haven’t even taken a picture together, can you believe that? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me. It’s the Thor costume, isn’t it? You don’t like it?” 

_I do like it,_ Arya wanted to tell him. _I like it too much. That’s the problem._

 

* * *

 

_Step 3: Make him yours._

After several more weeks of this torture – of her heart doing flip-flops whenever Aegon said or did anything remotely endearing – Arya finally caved in and told Sansa. 

Seeing her sister’s gleeful expression when she heard her confess did not make Arya feel better, though. In fact, it only made her even more nervous. Perhaps she should have called Jon instead. He might threaten to fly back to New York as soon as possible so he can personally deal with Aegon, but he would know exactly what to say to soothe Arya’s nerves. He understood her best, after all. 

“You’re acting this way because you like Aegon, silly,” Sansa told her with a secret smile. She sounded as though she'd waited a long time to say that to her, and knowing Sansa… well, she was probably right. 

“How can I like him like that?” Arya exclaimed in a horrified tone. “He’s my best friend!” 

“He’s a nice and attractive young man. What’s not to like?” 

“I know, but… Are you sure you’re not reading too much into the situation? Like, maybe I just need to get this out of my system? Maybe I just need to find a nice guy to have sex with and –” 

Sansa narrowed her eyes at her, Catelyn Stark-style. “But you _have_ already found a nice guy,” she reminded her sister. “All you need to do now is make him yours.” 

Arya did not look pleased to hear that. She trusted Sansa with her life, but this? What she was asking her to do? It sounded downright terrifying. “But… but…” she spluttered. “What if he doesn’t _like_ me like that? I don’t want to make things awkward between us if he rejects me. What if –”

“Arya, trust me. That guy’s in love with you. Has been for a while now,” Sansa informed her with relish. “I’ve always wanted to tell you that, but Jon said things would be better if you realized it on your own and dealt with your own feelings first.” 

Arya glared at her, looked properly offended. “And since when do you discuss my romantic affairs with Jon?” 

“Since the day I found out that a certain Targaryen has the hots for my sister.” Sansa pursed her lips, trying hard to suppress the urge to giggle at Arya’s ignorance when it came to guys, and touched her sister lightly on the shoulder, turning her so that she could see her reflection in the mirror. “C’mon, you’re Arya Stark. And Aegon Targaryen is just a guy. You’ve got this.”

 

* * *

 

_Sansa better be right about this,_ Arya thought as she entered Aegon's bedroom uninvited, choosing to ignore Rhaenys and Viserys’ curious stares as she passed them in the foyer. She found her best friend sprawled on his bed, playing Super Mario Kart on his iPad, a half-open can of Red Bull foaming next to him on his bedside table. At the sound of Arya’s footsteps, he looked up. 

“Oh, hey,” he said, looking surprised to see her. “I thought you had football practice?” 

Arya shrugged and perched herself on the edge of his bed. “I bailed and told Coach I wasn’t feeling well,” she mumbled. 

“So you can go play video games with me and stay the night? Sweet!” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not exactly,” she said. “I need to talk to you.” 

Aegon propped his chin with one hand and stared up at her. “Sounds serious. Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Arya replied. She bit her lip and frowned. How exactly was she supposed to say “ _I think I love you and I wanna have sex with you; please don’t be mad”_ without sounding like a total slut? Sansa told her to just be honest. Well, she could do that, right? Arya was good at being honest. 

“I was thinking…” 

She closed her eyes, prepared to tell him the speech she’d memorized on her way over to his house – a two-paragraph monstrosity with lots of Syrio Forel quotes and subtle motorcycle analogies – but at the last minute, she shook her head and thought, _Ah, fuck it._

“I think our friendship needs an upgrade,” Arya blurted out instead. 

Aegon raised his eyebrows. “Uhh… okay? What kind of upgrade?” 

“The kind where we make out and fight about stupid things and have crazy makeup sex on your motorcycle.” 

Aegon’s mouth dropped open in shock. His eyes flickered toward Arya, like he was just waiting for her to laugh and deliver the punch line, but when she stubbornly remained silent, he immediately shut his mouth. It took him a full minute before he recovered. When he did though, the smile he sent her was so blinding Arya felt her breath hitch in her throat. “I like where this is going. Go on,” he said. 

“You serious?” 

Aegon laughed at her. It wasn’t a teasing laugh, like one might expect from him, but a happy one. And somehow, his happy laugh made Arya, in turn, happy. “Yes, of course I’m serious,” he practically shouted out loud. “And yes, Arya Stark, I _will_ go out with you.” 

Arya didn’t wait for him to make the first move. She leaned down and captured his mouth in a kiss. When she pulled away from him, she was smiling. She was right. Aegon tasted just as sweet as she had imagined.

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this is the last prompt I have to fill for this collection. If there's a prompt I've forgotten to write, please don't hesitate to let me know. 
> 
> I'll probably start accepting new prompts after a couple of weeks.


	13. Baby, It's Cold Outside (Arya/Aegon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For elrewin. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, lovely people! :D

**For the prompt:**   _ **Aegon and Arya as a married couple**_

 

Arya finds her husband in the backyard, his feet buried in ankle-deep snow, his body completely exposed to the elements. She’s on the verge of scolding him for not even bothering to wear a coat or a scarf when she catches sight of the thing he is half-dragging, half-carrying on his shoulders. It’s a six-foot pine tree – beautiful and sturdy and just like the sort of thing Arya herself would have picked had she gone Christmas tree hunting with Aegon and Jon yesterday like she’d promised them she would – but for some reason, Aegon is dragging the tree out of the house, not _inside_ the house, like he’s supposed to.

“Umm, what are you doing?” she asks him, sounding amused.

Aegon huffs and turns around to face her, an adorable scowl painted on his face. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m throwing this thing away,” he says testily.

Arya rolls her eyes and fights the urge to laugh and kiss him on the tip of his already reddening nose. “The tree looks fine, Aegon. Honestly,” she tells him. 

“Fine?” Aegon exclaims, his eyes taking on that fiercely intense sheen that is so characteristic of every Targaryen Arya’s ever met. “We can’t settle for just _fine,_ Arya. We have to have the perfect tree, okay?”

“Fine, then. The tree looks _perfect_. Now can we please go back inside and have breakfast? I’m starving.” 

“No,” Aegon declares, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “I’m not going back inside till I find the perfect tree.”

Arya sighs. Most of the time she finds Aegon’s childish nature highly endearing, but it’s eight am on a Sunday and all she wants to do is snuggle next to her husband in front of an open fire while they drink hot chocolate and try to think of cool names for their upcoming first child. Trust Aegon to ruin that by trying to pick a fight with her over a _tree,_ of all things.

“What’s wrong with this one?” she asks him exasperatedly, motioning towards the tree he’d declared “perfect” just twenty-four hours ago.

“It’s not tall enough,” Aegon whines. “Have you seen the Daynes’ tree? It’s seven-foot three inches tall and has gorgeous pine needles – I reckon it’s Scotch pine, but I’ll have to take a closer look again later just to be sure – and god, have you seen their ornaments? They have tiny winged wolves and one of those cute purple stars at the top, and –wait for it – they even have silver tinsel. _Silver tinsel!_ Honestly. The nerve! Silver is your family’s color. Everybody knows that! It’s like they’re doing it on purpose!”

Arya’s annoyance quickly gives way to amusement. “Oh my god, is this what this is about?” she says with a laugh. “You’re jealous of our neighbors’ Christmas tree?” 

Aegon’s cheeks turn red. “I am not jealous,” he mumbles. “I just don’t like the idea of Ned Dayne having a Christmas tree that’s prettier than ours.”

“Oh c’mon, Aegon,” Arya teases him. “When are you going to get rid of this stupid grudge you have against Ned? He’s a sweet guy and everybody likes him. Just because he dated me freshman year of high school and took me to prom doesn’t mean you have to be so –” 

“What are you talking about? I like Ned. I play tennis with him at the club every weekend, remember? Where I win 6 out of 10 matches? Come to think of it, I always beat him at beer pong too. And… ha! Remember that time I bet I’d outdrive him at –” 

Before Aegon could fully launch into a long-winded ego-booster speech that would only serve to remind Arya of her appalling taste in men, she interrupts him by saying, “Need I remind you that Ned is now happily married to Sansa? That they have an adorable blue-eyed kid who runs around and calls you ‘Uncle’? Also, you do know that it’s perfectly within their rights to decorate their tree using silver, right? Technically, they’re family too.”

As logical as those words are coming from his wife’s mouth, Aegon is not about to be deterred. “Honey, family or not, I’m not going to let them outdo us this Christmas,” he willfully declares.

Arya only shakes her head fondly at him and kisses him on the cheek. “Good luck with that,” she says cheerfully. “Try not to get yourself killed while cutting down trees, okay?”

 

* * *

 

 

Six hours later, Aegon comes home bearing a triumphant smile and a tree so huge Arya has to use her entire upper body strength just so she could help him push it through the door and into the living room. Aegon’s cheeks are flushed and he looks as though he’d gone through hell and back just to get that stupid, perfect tree he wanted so badly, which is all well and good, because he’s probably going to get pneumonia from all the traipsing around town he’s been doing lately, and when that happens, Arya will be there to smugly tell him “I told you so.” 

Still, it’s a little hard for her heart not to melt when she sees Aegon like this. Arya loves Christmas, but her enthusiasm for the holidays could not possibly compare to that of her husband’s. Christmas is Aegon’s favorite holiday, and the fast rate at which he transforms from his regular old self to the male version of Cindy Lou Who is astonishing, to say the least. Rickon lists it as one of the many reasons why she shouldn’t have married Aegon in the first place. Luckily for Aegon, Arya isn’t in the habit of going to her brothers for dating advice. Besides, she finds his tenacious need to start shopping for Christmas gifts as early as September weirdly charming. 

“Ha! Let’s see Ned Dayne top this,” Aegon says smugly as he stares at his beloved tree and admires the way it stands tall in his living room.

Arya clears her throat. “Would you like me to give you some privacy?” 

Aegon ignores the well-aimed jibe and rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters. “Just be happy for me that I’ve won, okay?”

“What exactly have you won? Does Ned even know he’s competing against you? Because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.” 

“What does it matter?” Aegon says with a grin. “I _own_ Christmas.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fast-forward to Christmas Eve, and Aegon is huddled on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, staring sullenly as the guests trickled in and admired the Christmas decorations he’d enthusiastically set up just the night before. There’s Rickon maniacally handing out candy canes to every cute lady he sees, much to Catelyn Stark’s annoyance, while his pet wolf runs around chasing little Ashara, Ned and Sansa’s five-year-old daughter who Aegon likes to spoil on a daily basis. He could even catch a glimpse of Theon spiking the punch, aided by an already drunk Robb and a less-than-enthusiastic Jon.

“Aegon?” he hears Arya’s familiar voice call out to him. “What are you doing here all by yourself? I thought you’d gone and given your presents to Rhaenys and the kids?”

He sniffles pathetically and toys with the frayed end of his sweater. “I’ve got the flu and I don’t want to spread the virus around,” he tells her.

Arya looks torn between laughing at him and feeling concerned for his general welfare. “I told you you’d get sick if you ran around the neighborhood cutting down trees in nothing but your t-shirt and jeans, didn’t I?”

Aegon stares balefully at her and tries hard to retain what little remained of his dignity. “Can you please stop saying _I told you so?_ My head hurts and I feel cold,” he complains.

“That’s because it’s Christmas, silly. Don’t you love Christmas?” Arya teases him. She touches his forehead with the back of her hand and frowns once she realizes how hot his skin is. “Fuck. You really do have a fever. C’mon, let’s get you some medicine and go to bed.” 

“But… but what about the party?” he stammers out, barely covering his face in time before he sneezes.

“Oh, don’t worry. Sansa and my mom can play hostess for the rest of the night.” 

Arya pauses on the threshold of their bedroom and smiles. That’s all the warning he gets before she grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him in a way that sends warmth all the way down to his toes. He fights back a blush and stares at her, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t have,” he scolds her half-heartedly. “What if you get sick too? The baby –”

“Will be fine,” Arya reassures him. “Besides, it’s tradition.” 

Aegon follows the direction of her gaze and sees the mistletoe hanging festively over their heads. Damn. With all the decorations he’d put up all over the house, he’d forgotten about that one. But well, who is he to complain now? He stares at Arya in her cute reindeer headband and matching Christmas sweater and smiles. 

“Merry Christmas, wife.”

“Merry Christmas, you stubborn fool,” she replies fondly, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him into another kiss, sickness and flu viruses be damned. “Next year just let me pick the damned tree, will you?”

“Oh, alright. If you say so.”

 

 

 

 


	14. We Remain (Arthur x Lyanna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this thing won't show up on the gotfic tags. Or maybe it's just me? (Please tell me if it's just me.) Must be some kind of glitch (or maybe Safari is playing tricks on me again), but either way, I fucking love this pairing and thought I'd share it with you guys.
> 
> I'm not sorry I wrote this. Not sorry at all.

**For the prompt:**   ** _Arthur and Lyanna raising Jon together_**

 

**_One._ **

 

Three members of the Kingsguard came down the Tower of Joy to defeat Eddard Stark and his companions. But only one makes it back.

When Lyanna sees the blood marring Arthur’s white cloak, her composure breaks and she starts to cry. She knows what this means. There will be no victory for House Stark. Not now. Not ever. Now there is only Lyanna - broken and bloody and half the wolf she once was - and Benjen - shy, calm Benjen who is so far away he might as well be lost to her forever. And Jon. At least she still has Jon.

Arthur Dayne goes to her with grief-stricken eyes and hands meant to hold and comfort her, but Lyanna stops him with a look. “Don’t,” she says, her harsh voice a stark contrast to the odd way her body keeps on trembling.

There is much that needs to be done, but Arthur nods and allows her this one moment to grieve. He hates seeing Lady Lyanna cry. Has hated it since the first moment he saw Rhaegar break her heart with his cryptic words of three-headed dragons and long lost prophecies. It reminds him of all the dark nights he spent outside Queen Rhaella’s chambers, guarding her against imaginary threats, all the while pretending that he isn’t forsaking one vow for another.

He could have saved Lyanna Stark a long time ago, before her family burned at King’s Landing, before Robert started a war in her name, but Arthur Dayne is nothing if not loyal.

Today he will bury his slain brothers and mourn the dead. Tomorrow, he would take Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar’s only living heir across the Narrow Seas and live.

The Kingsguard do not run. They do not hide. But Arthur need only be reminded of the promise he had made his prince (“Guard them with your life, Arthur,” he remembers Rhaegar telling him, not knowing that those are the last words he would ever hear him say) in order to erase any lingering doubts he might have.

He already failed Prince Rhaegar once, when he allowed him to ride off into battle without his trusted knight and comrade by his side. He would not fail him again.

 

* * *

 

_**Two.** _

 

They arrive at Essos at the break of dawn. The whole thing is uncomfortable, pretending to be a half-Lyseni in search of a new home for his wife and newborn child, and nothing in Arthur’s training as a knight could have ever prepared him for this moment. He hates hiding Dawn, hates the sensation of not wearing armour, of wearing a cloak that isn’t _white_ , but he knows he can never voice these thoughts out loud. Not when Lyanna Stark is standing just a foot away from him. Lyanna Stark, who lost her brother and her father to a mad king’s whims. Lyanna Stark, who is now forced into exile with a man who is both her captor and protector. Compared to all the misfortune she has suffered, Arthur knows he has no right to complain at all.

He suspects Lyanna likes the situation even less. She does not want to trust him, Arthur can see it every time she hesitates before she lets him touch the babe, but in this strange new world, she has nobody else but him.

So she smiles and calls him Art and pretends to be his loving wife just long enough to deflect suspicion, but when Arthur insists that she give herself a new name, Lyanna refuses. “You will call me Lya,” she says.

Arthur tries to reason with her, but on this she would not be moved.

"You and your prince have taken everything from me," she tells him. "My name is the only thing I have left. You will not take it from me."

 

* * *

 

**_Three._ **

 

Lyanna soon gets used to life as a sellsword’s wife. When lesser women would have given up and ran away, Lyanna falls to her role with ease. Finally freed from the constraints of life as a noble and all the responsibility that it entails, Arthur watches her bloom. It is an astonishing sight to behold.

He used to wonder what it is about this Stark girl that makes men want to throw away their honour and die for her, but now… Arthur gets it now.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Four._ **

 

There are times when he starts to lose himself, when he would feel less like a knight and more of a failure, and the ghosts of the past would haunt him so. Those times are few and far in between, but when it happens, Lyanna is always quick to bring him back to the present. She would cup his face with gentle hands and tell him, “You are Ser Arthur Dayne, the greatest knight that ever lived. You are the Sword of the Morning. Remember that.”

Then she would unwrap Dawn from its hiding place and present it to him, and though the sword is heavy in her hands, never once does she complain.

Arthur wonders when she started thinking of him less as the man who killed her brother and more as the man who would give up his life to protect her and her child.

 

* * *

 

**_Five._ **

 

Jon grows up quickly, too quickly, if Lyanna’s comments are any indication. He is a sweet boy, with none of his mother’s quick temper and impulsiveness, and there is something about his solemn face and the quiet manner in which he carries himself that reminds Arthur eerily of Rhaegar. But his appearance - from his dark brown curls right down to his stormy grey eyes - is all Stark. He can’t tell who is more grateful for it - him or Lyanna.

By the time the boy turns four, Arthur no longer has the heart to correct him every time he slips up and calls him “Father.”

 

* * *

**_Six._ **

 

It isn’t long before Arthur begins teaching them the way of the sword. At first it’s just Lyanna - stubborn, persistent Lyanna who bribes him with stuffed green peppers, like the kind they used to serve in Dorne, until he’s forced to cave in to her demands - but when Jon is deemed old enough, he starts training him as well.

The boy is a quick learner, and Arthur takes care not to coddle him, the way Prince Rhaegar was coddled at Summerhall, and the way Prince Aegon would have been coddled, had he lived long enough to survive knighthood. They train from morning till dawn, and soon, under the legendary knight’s careful tutelage, Jon Targaryen becomes a force to be reckoned with. Not enough to defeat him in single combat, but enough to make him proud.

"You are so strong, Father," Jon tells him one day, just moments after Arthur disarms him with a particularly difficult move. "Will I ever grow up to be as strong as you?”

"If you keep up with your training and remember everything that I’ve taught you, perhaps one day you shall be strong enough to defeat me."

Arthur doesn’t tell him that when that day comes, he would be all too glad to hand Dawn over to him.

 

* * *

**_Seven._ **

 

He doesn’t want to admit it at first, but he has grown to love life as a Westerosi exile. He still misses home, still longs for Starfall, for the moment when he could don his white cloak again, but there are other things about this new life that he has learned to appreciate. Lyanna Stark’s smiles, for instance. Sometimes, when she smiles at him just so, he finds it hard to remember his vows. He won’t allow himself to cross that line - he’s too much of a knight for that to happen - but it isn’t the first time he’s been tempted.

And then there’s Jon. There will come a time when he and Lyanna would have to tell him about his real parentage. Even if Lyanna changes her mind later on and refuses to leave the life they’ve carefully built, Arthur knows it is his duty to tell Jon about Rhaegar and the destiny that awaits him at Westeros. They would have to leave the lovely cottage with the thatched roof behind, go home, and reclaim a throne for a king the realm never even knew existed.

There would be another war, but that doesn’t bother him. The great Ser Arthur Dayne isn’t scared of war.

What scares him is that he might not want to go back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see a new ship on the horizon.
> 
> I completely blame my wonderful mutual on Tumblr for making me ship this pairing. Now I'm in pain because there are hardly any fics about the two of them around, and I want more. See my problem here?


End file.
